


Bite Me, Pretty Boy

by FaultyParagon



Series: RWBY AUs [14]
Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Clover Ebi-centric, Clover is the equivalent of a useless lesbian but in vampire form, Clover stop going into the sunlight it'll hurt you, Comedy, Depressed Qrow Branwen, Eventual Romance, Fluff and Humor, Flustered Clover Ebi, Gen, Goddammit Clover you useless himbo come back inside, Humor, Just like Clover's burning skin in the sun, M/M, Paramedic Clover Ebi, Paranormal, Qrow hates having all of these dumb children under his wing, Romance, Romantic Comedy, Slow Burn, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Useless Vampires, Vampires, come be brooding and angsty like the rest of the ageless ones you tool, fair game, no you can't go to work you idiot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:47:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 25,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25217998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaultyParagon/pseuds/FaultyParagon
Summary: Clover was just an ordinary guy helping out a stranger one night. He wasn’t expecting for life to put him through the biggest adventure of them all: death.According to Qrow Branwen, his saviour/creator (no, he will not refer to Qrow as his ‘daddy’) Clover is going to get a second chance around the block....Too bad he kind of sucks at this whole ‘vampire' thing.-aka Clover is a garbage vampire and Qrow is going to lose his mind trying to keep this lucky idiot alive if Clover doesn't grow two braincells soon. FairGame, Modern AU.
Relationships: Clover Ebi & James Ironwood, Harriet Bree & Clover Ebi, Marrow Amin & Harriet Bree & Clover Ebi & Elm Ederne & Vine Zeki, Qrow Branwen & Clover Ebi, Qrow Branwen & Ruby Rose & Yang Xiao Long, Qrow Branwen & Taiyang Xiao Long, Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi
Series: RWBY AUs [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1690948
Comments: 169
Kudos: 122





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Much like my other Fair Game AUs, this also came to me in the middle of the night a few months ago. Is this going to contain much more crack than my other fics? Probably. Will I have fun writing it? Most definitely.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it, and let me know what you think of it!

Fire. He had to be on fire. How else could Clover describe the sensation of burning in his chest, radiating heat throughout his body? What else could be causing these pins and needles shooting up his spine other than searing flames? What else could be suffocating him from the inside out if it wasn’t smoke?

He staggered backwards, blinking heavily, breathing harder. The alleyway was as pitch-black as it had been before he had gotten there, the slivers of the moon which had followed him into the narrow passage having left him behind a few paces earlier. From where he stood, he couldn’t even see the neon lights of the clubs lining the street outside. Clover longed to go back to it, to enter the light once more.

Strangely enough, however, he couldn’t make himself move.

He felt his heartrate rising, his breath emerging in desperate, pained gasps. A bolt of shooting heat lanced through his side and his hands flew up to grab it automatically; they came away wet, soaked with sticky liquid, the scent of iron tang filling the air.

Clover blinked. His hands looked black in the shadowy alleyway. _Oh,_ he thought dimly, sound beginning to fade away in his ears as he finally lost balance, toppling onto his side. _That’s why._

The ground was cold. He felt like he was no longer in his body; it was with the vaguest awareness that he realized how the damp, mottled concrete tore up his cheek upon landing. Behind him, he could hear footsteps running away, echoing wetly down the alleyway while sirens screamed ever-closer in the distance.

_They stabbed me._

Well. That hadn’t been the plan.

That morning, everything had been fine. He had gone to work just like he did every day, his twelve-hour shift ending with little mishap. It had been busy, for sure- the closer it got to summertime, the more people were out and about, leaving Clover more than enough to do over his shift- but Clover never minded that their EMT car was constantly on the road. Clover had felt resigned acceptance as he realized that fireworks season was well on its way.

“We’re gonna be dealing with a lot of idiots with burns and missing fingers soon,” Harriet had groaned as she slid into the driver’s seat that morning. The young woman had yawned despite having chugged down nearly a litre of coffee just moments before, adding, “Are you ready to deal with it?”

And Clover had grinned sliding into the seat beside her, because realistically, they both knew they’d rather deal with an increase in amputated fingers or burns rather than the usual calls they received on their pagers.

Still, the life as a paramedic kept Clover on his toes, and that day had been no different. He hadn’t had to deal with any bodies that day. Amidst the one car crash the duo had had to attend that day, everyone involved had been able to walk away fairly unscathed, the most irritated one of them all being the towing company who had had to drag a three-car-pile wreckage apart after insurance photos were taken. There had been one call for a potential suicide, but the police had arrived before them and the duo had been forced to stand down in their ambulance.

Overall, not a bad day. At the end of it all, he had traded greetings with the next shift and clapped Marrow on the shoulder; Elm, another paramedic on Clover’s shift, began to tell Clover about whatever silliness the Marrow had gotten up to with his partner the day before. “It was Fiona’s fault!” Marrow had fumed, earning nothing but a smack on the back of his head from his partner and a laugh from Clover and Elm. The atmosphere around their dispatch point and main office had been peaceful as usual.

Clover had left in high spirits, ready to go home with a spring in his step despite the long workday. The moon was out, but with the tantalizing prospect of a 24-hour rest awaiting him, the moonlight was like a guiding beacon showing him the way home amidst the fluorescent streetlights. He had slipped in his headphones and tucked his hands into his jacket pockets, walking down the street confidently. _I can go to the gym, since no one’s ever there at this time._ Well, except for that one uppity woman who worked in investigations at James’ precinct; she always managed to find her way to his apartment complex’s gym at the same time as Clover. _But I can just avoid her. It’s easy enough._

It was with that thought in mind that he had turned the corner on the main street near his apartment complex. The beauty of living so close to the city center was that he could always walk to and from the hospital. It was always faster to cut through the club district to get back home; the nightlife generally wasn’t too terrible to deal with at that time of evening, so he had expected a peaceful return trip.

As he had entered a walkway lined with sultry neon lights and faintly booming music which shook the foundations of nearly every building he passed, Clover had heard it. For a moment, he had thought it to be just a random effect in the music he was listening to; taking out one headphone, he paused, focusing again on the empty street and pulsing air.

The sound had come again. Without music playing into his ears, the wailing scream- quickly cut off and muffled- was easily caught by Clover. He froze, trying to locate the sound. When the rattling of a metal bin rang out from an alleyway twenty feet away, Clover had pulled out his phone and sent a message to James immediately. If the older man was at the precinct at this hour, then he would be able to send someone to help.

For the moment, though, Clover couldn’t abandon whoever was in the alley. That would have defeated the purpose of everything Clover worked for each day. He worked hard every day to keep the citizens safe, right?

So, he had stepped out of the finding a group of men cornering a young woman who was clearly too intoxicated to fight back. Her eyes, wide and shining and terrified, were the only lights in the otherwise inky darkness, the three figures surrounding her barely visible in the shadows.

Adrenaline had surged through his veins, numbing the fatigue filling his very bones. There was little satisfaction in knowing he managed to land a good punch on two of the men, throwing them off the woman. Perhaps there had been some use to being caught up in more than one brawl in university.

The third was the one who had caught him off guard, landing a strike in Clover’s side that left him doubled over, gasping for air. While Clover struggled to regain his balance, the third man had begun to scrabble at the other two, dragging them away wide-eyed and slowly creating distance between themselves and Clover.

When he regained his balance, Clover had managed to help the young woman up. A tear-stained, snot-covered face wept back at him as she stumbled away, teetering on heels too high to be comfortable. Clover opened his mouth to call out to her; he had wanted to walk with her, to get her to a safe place until they could figure out where her assailants had gone. The very least he could do was wait for the police to arrive with her.

And then, he had fallen. It had gotten harder to breathe, the world dimming and the fire beginning to grow in his side.

The third assailant had stabbed him, and now, Clover was on the ground, bleeding out in a dark back alley, hidden away from the world. His vision began to grow dark, the outside edges of his view fading away, his eyes tunneling in to focus upon a singular point above him. _I have to stay awake,_ he told himself over and over again, desperate to stay focused. His hand clutched his side weakly. _I have to stay awake until James gets people here._

He could hear the sirens in the distance, but only vaguely. The entire world seemed to be underwater. He was losing too much blood, splayed out on the concrete. His entire body had begun to shiver, the evening chill penetrating that much farther into his bones as liquid continued to seep out of the wound in his side. If he didn’t receive help soon…

The last thing he saw in his narrowed, tunneled vision was a flash of red, unnaturally bright in the darkness of the alleyway; and then, it was dark.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter 2 of this nonsense. Let me know what you think!

His awakening was languid, slow. Eyes slowly peeled open, and he took a moment to simply breathe, staring up at the ceiling above him. It still just a little bit light outside, he realized- while the sun was no longer streaming into his bedroom, it was more than bright enough to hurt his eyes. He squinted, then closed his eyes, giving up on trying to look around. A sinking pain was developing quickly in his forehead, extending to the back of his neck. _Maybe I’m getting a migraine if I’m this sensitive to light,_ he thought absently.

Swinging his legs over the side of his bed, he let out a long yawn, glancing around. The clock on his dresser said that it was late afternoon of the next day, meaning that he had less than eight hours left before his next shift. “How did I manage to waste the whole day?” he croaked miserably, tottering up to his feet. He was supposed to have done so much during his 24-hour rest…

First things first, though- he felt absolutely disgusting. Cracking his neck to the side, he quickly entered his small studio’s bathroom, flicking on just the vanity light and taking a look at-

_Holy shit._

And then, it all flooded back to him.

Immediately, Clover looked down. He was still wearing the clothes he had worn the day before to and from the hospital. His entire left side was drenched with dried, mottled blood, the fabric of his hoodie and t-shirt and jeans stiff and unyielding with the sheer amount of absorbed fluid. Clover quickly stripped everything off, looking at himself in the mirror, absolutely horrified.

There was no wound on his left side. The blood was present, however, tinting his skin a dark, gruesome red. His visage itself was a mess- his hair was blown everywhere, his face gaunt and skin pale, dark circles from a fitful night’s slumber shining purple under his eyes, lips cracked and dehydrated- but he seemed safe overall. Unharmed, not a laceration in sight.

_Then… where did all the blood come from?_

The light above the vanity seemed to penetrate into his very skull, so he couldn’t look for too long. However, he did manage to catch sight of his eyes; they looked far paler than before, a glittering green shining far brighter than the hazel they used to be.

He blinked, watching as the colour sparkled for a moment before he flicked off the light. _Maybe I’m just seeing things,_ he told himself. _This doesn’t make any sense._

And yet, as he showered and tossed his clothes into the hamper, all he could do was wrack his brain, desperate to find any foothold in the previous night’s events. While he could trace his footsteps through his day up to a point, the moment he had entered the alley, he didn’t know what had happened. _Maybe James brought me home._ If his old friend had indeed come to the scene of the attack, then there was a high probability that James had taken care of Clover’s wounds and brought him home.

However, it still didn’t make any sense. At the very least, he would have scars, or sutures, or _something-_

But his skin was smooth, and once the blood was scrubbed off, there was no indication that there had ever been an attack.

Clover sighed, running his hands through his wet hair. What the hell had happened the night before? Why couldn’t he _remember?_

There was no point wasting time fussing about it. His only lead was James, so there was only one option: check in with the police chief before heading to the hospital. James wouldn’t have any issues bringing Clover home, after all; James knew the code to his apartment, so no one else would be able to get in without his entry card.

 _Entry card. Wallet._ Clover rushed out of the bathroom in a towel and rummaged through his belongings, trying to find his keys and wallet as he dripped water all over the floor, the shower still running. To his surprise, they were stacked neatly on the stand next to the door. When Clover checked, no money was missing, but the cards certainly seemed to be out of order, with his apartment complex’s entry card having been shoved into the front.

He never actually used the card since he had his own code. _But who-?_

He shook his head, trudging back to the bathroom. Taking in deep breaths, he quelled the panic and distressed confusion racing through his mind. Either way, all he could do was get dressed and try and find some answers.

By the time the blood had dried off and the growing migraine eased up enough for Clover to actually leave his apartment, the sun was beginning to set. Even then, he grabbed a pair of sunglasses and slipped them onto his face, drawing up his hood to avoid catching the sun’s rays as he set forth. He tucked his hands into his pockets and hopped on the closest bus he could to get to the local precinct; a quick text to James confirmed that the man was in his office and would be available to chat.

True to his word, the moment Clover stepped inside the bustling building, James was standing by his private office door waving him in. The tall man wore a scowl on his face, taciturn and grim as always; however, there was a worried glint in his eyes, a hesitation in the way he stroked his beard while waiting for Clover to approach.

Once they were seated inside James’ office and the door was properly closed behind them, James muttered, “So, Clover. Tell me what the hell happened last night.”

Clover’s heart fell. James hadn’t become the chief of police for the local precinct for dallying about. “What do you mean, James? Aren’t _you_ the one who knows?”

James’ eyes grew dark, shadowy with suspicion. “You sent me a message saying that there was a potential assault happening in downtown,” he said carefully. “I went with a few of my men. We found a young woman who explained that she had been nearly assaulted until someone matching _your_ description pulled them off of her, and then she didn’t know what happened.”

“And what about me? You found me, right?”

That suspicion began to turn into alarm in James’ eyes, the older man sighing heavily and massaging his temples. “We _didn’t_ find you; that’s why I’m asking where you went,” he said after a moment of contemplation. “We _did_ find large amounts of blood on the concrete. Clover, what happened?”

Clover paused, sinking back into his chair. His mind was spinning with all that information. _James… didn’t find me?_ He gulped, his mouth dry, head foggy. _How did I get back home?_

“-over? Clover?”

Clover started in his seat, jumping slightly. His sunglasses bent askew upon his nose, and he quickly fixed them, unsure of what to say. “Sorry, James. Repeat that?”

James frowned. “Clover, tell me about what you remember.”

Clover shook his head, still baffled. “I wish I could tell you,” he admitted quietly. “One of the guys attacking that girl stabbed me, then-“

James stood up, alarm and worry replacing his suspicion. “You didn’t tell me you were hurt!” he cried, quickly making his way around the table. “Are you okay? What-“

Clover held up his hands, calming the elder down. “Hey, wait,” he said gently. “Look- I remember them stabbing me, and I couldn’t get out of the alley. Next thing I knew, I woke up at home- and that was only a few hours ago.”

James leaned back, perching upon the edge of his desk with crossed arms. “Do you remember what the men looked like?” he said quietly. “We’re looking at security footage, but another witness would help the young woman’s case. Also, if they actually stabbed you… that isn’t a small accusation.” His face softened. “You- did you get the wounds treated?”

Clover automatically reached down to clutch his side where that searing pain had bit into him so remorselessly the previous night. “This is going to sound crazy, but…” And he quickly raised the hem of his hoodie and shirt, exposing the side of his body. “I swear, the wound was here.”

James’ expression grew stony at the distinct lack of an injury. “And you remember _nothing_ afterwards?”

“No, I-“ Suddenly, a flash of red popped into his mind, so bright and blinding it was disorienting. “But when I came to…”

After a long, tense moment, James muttered, “Have you been drinking lately? Smoking?”

Clover sat back down, groaning as he pushed his hair out of his face. “ _No,_ James, gods-“

“Then why the sunglasses?”

“I’m getting a migraine, and it’s so bright outside!”

“Look,” the elder interrupted, his worry stronger than ever, “I know that you’ve got a handle on things, but… being a first responder isn’t an easy job. You’re seeing the mandated therapist?”

Clover rolled his eyes, although the elder didn’t see the action behind his sunglasses. Clover knew the dangers, the tragedy, of his work better than most. “Of course I am.”

Doubt still shone as clear as day in the man’s weary face. “Okay, but make sure you take more breaks, alright? You and I both know how easily trauma can build.”

Clover flinched, nodding somberly.

Finally, James seemed to give up. “I’m not entirely sure what happened last night, but we’ll review footage and let you know,” he said. “For now, I’d like you to get a checkup.” When Clover raised a brow, James insisted, “Wouldn’t you ask me to do the same?”

Mutely, Clover nodded again. There was no lie.

With that, James stood up again, walking to the back of his office. “You seem exhausted. I’ll make you some coffee. Stay for a cup- you have time, right?” he said lightly, quickly spooning a few tablespoons of a fresh grind into a French press. As he flicked on a small electric kettle, the scent of coffee wafted into Clover’s nose.

Clover loved coffee; and yet, the moment the scent of that dark roast hit Clover’s olfactory system, his brain felt like it was short circuiting. Immediately, he felt his stomach churning, and he hunched over, pinching his nose closed and waving his hand to stop James. “I really don’t feel well,” he confessed, staggering to the door. “I’m going to head out.”

James followed him, concerned. “Make sure you get checked out before work, alright? I’ll contact you if we have any updates on what happened last night.”

Flashing James a wan grin, Clover stumbled out of the precinct, hopping onto another bus back home. Normally, he would walk; but the sun was shining too brightly, the scent of coffee was still making him feel terrible, and something about the thought of cutting through the club district was enough to set his nerves on fire. He glanced at his reflection in the bus’s window, scowling at the lack of colour in his cheeks, the deadness of his eyes. It was at once deafeningly quiet on that empty bus and still so loud, he could hardly handle it.

This wasn’t an ordinary migraine. He pulled his sunglasses down slightly to look at shimmering emerald reflecting back at him. Something was wrong with him, wasn’t there?

 _I’ll go home and eat something,_ he told himself sternly. _I’ll eat something and take some medicine, and if it’s still bad by work, I’ll get checked out. It’ll be fine._

It had to be.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we have it folks- introduction to _peak_ himbo!Clover. Buckle up because you're about to begin a journey that'll leave you as tired of his nonsense as Qrow by the end of this fic.

The moment he stepped foot into his kitchen, the realization finally struck him; he hadn’t eaten since halfway through his shift the day before, over 24 hours earlier. Once that thought had entered his brain, however, there was no escaping it; the dull ache in his stomach began to grow, prompting him to pull out a prepared meal from his freezer and get to cooking. All it needed was some fresh chives, so he grabbed those out of his refrigerator and began chopping.

It took a moment for the pain to register, but eventually, it did hit- he pulled his thumb back, grimacing. _I really am scatterbrained._ It made sense that he’d cut himself accidentally, with his migraine and the strangeness of his eyes and the bizarro-world the past day had been-

There wasn’t any cut on his thumb. Clover frowned, examining it. Still, there wasn’t anything there. He shrugged and moved on, finishing with the knife and putting the chives to the side to add in later.

Normally, the scent of vegetables and meat hitting hot oil would’ve been appetizing. Today, however, Clover could only gag. For a moment, he simply backpedaled from the stove, leaning heavily onto his small dining table. He took in a deep breath, then two. _It still smells the same,_ he noted dully. _There’s nothing wrong with my actual sense of smell, it seems._

And yet, as the scent of his dinner began permeating through his apartment, the enticing smell was anything but. Clover eventually gave up, throwing open his windows and just slamming a lid onto the wok, taking it off the heat and letting it cool before dumping the food’s contents into his compost. He felt terrible wasting it, but what was he to do? His volatile reaction wasn’t normal, but he could always eat something once he was at the hospital. His shift would be twelve hours, and there was no way he could just leave food half-cooked on the stove for that long.

That ache was still growing in his stomach, but thankfully, the migraine had eased with the setting of the sun. Clover glanced around his apartment, confused. “When did it become so dark in here?” he thought aloud. He hadn’t even bothered turning on any lights, and yet, he felt perfectly at ease. Squinting, he could easily make out details of his apartment, despite it being in relative shadow.

 _Huh._ He sighed, checking his watch. There wasn’t a lot of time before he had to be at the hospital. Before the scent could engrain itself into his mind, making him feel sick all shift, he washed the wok and packed his clothes, getting his apartment ready in anticipation for his next day off. _Maybe then I’ll get a workout in,_ he thought glumly.

Then again, with the memory of the knife wound still so fresh in his mind, maybe he’d just allow himself to rest and recuperate on his next break. His gaunt, pale face said that he definitely needed it.

_Maybe I’ll take the sunglasses. Just in case._

As he fixed his hair and clothes, grabbed his belongings and hit the streets once more, his mind drifted back to his assailants. Why in the world had that feeling been so vivid if there wasn’t any wound? Clearly _something_ had happened- after all, he could remember the events leading up to the fight easily, and his memory could still conjure up the sound of that young woman shrieking in fear. His footsteps carried him away from the club district on instinct. Something had happened, so where was the wound?

Those thoughts spiralled around and around in his brain, leading him to no answers as he finally entered the locker room. The lights were still ridiculously bright inside, but thankfully, the headache was not as painful, so the sunglasses could be left inside his bag. Immediately, he pulled on his EMT attire and readied his tools. However, those hunger pangs persisted. Clover groaned, feeling the need to eat grow painfully. As he glanced over the snacks he had in his locker, though, nothing seemed appealing.

With little other choice, he walked into the hallway outside and bought a sports drink. Some electrolytes would be better than nothing, right? As he stood in front of his locker, he was able to chug the whole thing down. The smell instantly made him recoil, but he ignored it; he needed _something_ in him before his shift began.

From across the room, Harriet called, “If you’re chugging that thing, make sure you use the bathroom beforehand, okay Clover? I’m not pulling over because you can’t time potty breaks well.”

Her words were just as abrasive as usual, but it was something else about what she said that caught Clover’s attention. When was the last time he had actually used the bathroom?

 _Okay, something is actually wrong._ His hunger, his repulsion to food- he was likely extremely dehydrated, so that explained the lack of bathroom uses, he supposed- but when combined with the paleness, what in the world was going on?

Suddenly, Harriet was standing in front of him, a worried glint in her eye. “Hey, Ebi,” she murmured, voice softer than usual, “is something the matter? Where’s your comeback?”

Clover blinked at her, still fixated upon what his symptoms could mean. “…Am I pregnant?” he muttered aloud.

She stared deadpan back. “Okay, maybe you’ve just become stupider. Whatever.” Squinting, her frown only deepened as she looked over his face. “Seriously. Clover Ebi, what happened to you? You’re really pale.” When she reached up to check his temperature and skin condition, she instantly retracted her hand the moment she touched his forehead. “You’re _freezing!_ What’s going on?”

 _Am I really that cold? I couldn’t even tell._ Clover chuckled dryly, trying to alleviate some of her concern. “I, uh… I haven’t been feeling too great,” he admitted, silently bracing himself for the whirlwind to come.

It was a good thing he did, too; within the next few minutes, she dragged him to their supervisor’s office, announced that he was taking a sick day, called in a replacement, helped him fill out paperwork, and ushered him to change back into his regular clothes. “You need to go home, Clover,” she said sternly. “Or better yet, get checked out!”

“But why?”

She raised a brow. “Because you’re literally already at the hospital?”

Clover sighed, shaking his head. While a part of him knew it would probably be the smartest thing to do, the idea of getting properly examined by a physician left him strangely uneasy. Why, he didn’t know, but… “I think I just need a good night’s rest, Hare,” he said softly. “Look- I didn’t get a great sleep last night. You know how changeover days can be, so that’s probably it.”

She looked doubtful, but thankfully she did not press further. “Get your ass back here if you feel any worse tomorrow though, okay?” she insisted.

He saluted playfully. “Yes ma’am.”

Their supervisor was kind enough to offer to get him a cab back home, saving him the trouble of having to suffer another long, drawn-out walk through dark streets to avoid the club district again. Clover refused. “The walk should clear my head a bit,” he said. “I think it’ll help me get ready for bed when I get home.”

He doubted it would actually do anything, but the sports drink was rolling in his stomach, and he did not want to be cooped up in a cab if the whole bottle decided to eject itself.

His path led him to a peaceful suburban neighbourhood. With the moonlight still illuminating the streets, he felt far more at ease than he had all day. The evening breeze felt lovely on his skin; with nothing but the scent of the night air in his nose, his stomach calmed down a little bit, too, and the pangs of hunger that had been assaulting his senses for so long quieted. Without the sunglasses and hoodie, he felt free, comfortable. _Maybe I should go for night walks in quieter parts of town more often,_ he thought wryly to himself. _This is nice._

He eventually passed by a small skate park. Although the signs outside the park said that it was only for use during daylight hours, Clover could easily see a gaggle of teenagers enjoying the empty facilities. One teen was leaning against the hood of the sole car in the parking lot, watching his friends fondly, while the others took turns skating across the various ramps, the sound of skidding wheels and giggling teens filling the air.

As he made his way down the road, Clover paused, hearing the skid of a board and a yelp of pain. Looking back over his shoulder, he watched as the kids hopped off their boards to crowd around what looked like the youngest girl of the group, helping her to her feet as she whimpered and groaned, clutching her wrist to her chest. Clover slumped over, exhausted. A part of him wanted to walk away.

 _That’s not what you’re paid for,_ he told himself as he turned to trudge back to the teenagers. _Let’s make sure she’s okay._

When they saw him approaching, the kids were fairly skeptical. When he pulled out the small first aid kit he always carried in his bag, however, they were more at ease to stop and listen when he said, “My name is Clover, and I’m a paramedic. May I take a look at that?”

The girl with the injured wrist nodded tearfully, two friends staying at her side whilst they took a seat on a nearby bench. One of her other friends told her gently, “I’ll text my mom and say that we’re taking you to the hospital. Want me to call your mom too?”

“Yes please,” she breathed, holding out her arm for Clover to look over.

Keeping the kindest smile he could muster despite his weariness upon his face, Clover began asking her his usual questions and checking out the injury, protective gloves already on his hands. The deformation and swelling in her wrist made it clear that it was likely a broken bone, but she needed to get some x-rays to confirm it.

Before he could say anything, however, a sudden, sharp, sweet scent hit his nose. He froze, glancing down at her hand- there was a long laceration across her palm as well, likely from slicing her hand on some corner during her fall. Clover’s fingers immediately began taking out some antiseptic wipes and gauze from his kit, ready to clean the open wounds.

He never got to take care of the injury, however. A thin line of blood trailed down the side of her hand. His eyes honed in on that stream, the red contrasting beautifully against pale skin. He gulped, but his breath was stuck in his throat- all he could do was stare at that open wound, the scent of iron and rust filling his senses.

And for the first time that day, Clover felt like he might actually be _satiated._

The girl’s whimper of, “Um, hey, are you okay?” was barely audible to his ears. Clover’s tongue flicked out, gliding over his teeth. Had they always been that sharp? He couldn’t seem to remember. All he knew was that whatever that scent was left him breathless and heady, and he wanted more of it.

Suddenly, a large, cool hand slid smoothly over his eyes, pulling him backward in his seat before Clover could react. A low, husky male voice growled from behind him, “Alright, kiddos, you’ve got a ride to the hospital, right? Time to leave.”

“But-“

“But nothing,” the voice commanded, a steely edge to his tone. “Go.”

The teenagers didn’t waste a second, the car doors opening and slamming shut a few moments later, the car driving away soon after. Clover reached up to find the hand utterly immovable. He grabbed onto it, desperately tugging and clawing for his own freedom. Why wasn’t it moving? Clover was no pushover, but no matter how much he strained his built form, he couldn’t pull that hand away. _What is going on- who is this guy?_ More importantly, why had he stopped Clover? After all, he had been so close, he had felt _so close to feeling full-_

_What was I going to do, anyways?_

Clover froze, that thought finally breaking the trance that had befallen him.

Then, he felt the hand finally release him. Clover pivoted in his seat, ready to snarl at the stranger who had thought to grab him.

He didn’t. Clover looked up, only to see blood red eyes looking down impassively at him. Then, the eyes seemed to twinkle, catching the moonlight despite the figure standing in shadow. “You’re coming with me now, boy scout,” the stranger ordered.

Clover staggered to his feet, pulling his bag back onto his shoulders and grimacing. “Why?”

The stranger stepped forward, smiled debonair and handsome and knowingly. “Because I said so, you idiot.”

Clover couldn’t dodge the punch that landed upon his nose, nor could he escape the unconsciousness that followed after. Only one thought rang in his mind as darkness overcame him.

 _Well,_ he’s _pretty._


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We did it, y'all. Let the shenanigans begin.

Clover was a little sick of waking up in his bed with no clue as to how he had gotten there.

As he opened his eyes and recognized the alarm clock on the nightstand, all he could do was sigh and pinch the bridge of his nose, searching through his hazy memories. Had he gone to work? Yes. He was sent home by Harriet and decided to walk rather than take a cab. Nothing had really happened on the way home until he passed the skate park-

 _That man punched me,_ he realized, feeling around his nose tenderly. The impact had been painful, he could recall; however, there was no indication that any damage had been done. He tested the cartilage and pressed to see if there was any pain or swelling, but there was nothing. The only thing that hurt was that same haunting ache, that indescribable hunger that had been carving up his stomach all day.

The one positive note was that his stomach felt lighter, no longer weighed down after the sports drink. That was good, at least.

Groaning, he finally sat up in his bed, rubbing bleary eyes. It was three in the morning; he should’ve been at work, ready to answer distress calls with Harriet. The mere thought of sitting in the ambulance all night made him queasy, though, and distant pangs of hunger rang stronger in his mind. Why was he still feeling like this? “I’ve gotta stop doing this,” he chided himself lightly out of exasperation.

“You would’ve stopped already if you’d just stayed at home like a good little boy, you fucking idiot,” a low voice growled from his kitchen. “You should’ve stayed in bed for at least a few more hours last night. I would’ve been back to explain it all. You brought this headache upon yourself, and you almost caused some real trouble, you know that?”

Clover sprang to his feet, looking across the apartment. Immediately, he regretted that movement; the world began to spin, the hunger increasing. He fell limply back onto his bed, slouching over and focusing on his breathing. When he did glance upwards once more, his eyes adjusted nearly-instantly to the darkness. Despite being completely obscured by shadows, he could still make out the figure who walked across the hardwood floors, their shoulders slouched and gait relaxed until they entered the moonlight streaming in through Clover’s window.

Clover sucked in a sharp breath. It was the man from the park- the one who had interfered with Clover and the kids and… Clover ran his fingers through his hair, frantically trying to piece together what had happened. He had heard the young woman fall, he had offered her help, and then what? He recognized the man for sure; he was even more handsome now that Clover could get a proper look at him. But then he’d gotten a punch in the nose?

There had to be something he was missing. He just couldn’t remember it for whatever reason- all he could remember was the pangs of hunger growing and growing in his gut.

Still, the man standing in Clover’s living area was completely at ease, dressed in nothing but a thin dress shirt with rolled up sleeves and black slacks. Clover glanced over the man’s shoulder- the blazer the man had been wearing was spread out over Clover’s drying rack by the bathroom. Piercing red eyes watched his every movement under strong black brows, a thin mouth twisting into a disapproving frown.

Clover didn’t know this man.

“Who are you?” he breathed, fingers stealthily reaching for his phone. If he could somehow get the police on the phone or send a message to James…

 _Dammit._ He glanced over to the kitchen table. His keys, wallet, phone and bag were all placed there in a pile. There was no way to reach it without crossing the stranger first.

“I’m the one who saved your life, kid,” the man replied, his stance relaxed, his eyes anything but. In contrast to his harsh gaze, his face itself seemed radiant; underneath the moonlight, the stranger’s skin was ethereally white, almost silvery- almost unreal. The grey streaks throughout his dark hair seemed to shimmer and shine, a halo around his stern face.

Frowning, Clover muttered, “First off, kid? I’m almost thirty, thanks-“

Strangely enough, the man- who didn’t look a day over thirty-five, forty at most- threw his head back and laughed, his coldness slipping away into genuine amusement. “Oh, thirty, huh?” he roared. “We’ve got a _big man_ right here, don’t we?”

 _What is wrong with this guy?_ Clover only stared at him, deadpan. “Second of all,” he continued, “what do you mean you ‘saved me’?”

Once the older man’s laughter finally died off, his smile slipping back into that same scowl, he shrugged. “I mean, technically I saved you _twice,_ ” he added, walking over to Clover’s dining table. Before Clover could protest, the man grabbed one of the wooden chairs and dragged it over to face Clover’s bed in the corner. Clover could only wince as he heard the scraping against the hardwood- it probably left a scratch.

The man spun the seat to face away from Clover, straddling it and leaning his chin and arms comfortably against the back of the chair as he watched the younger man’s reactions. “Why do you look upset?” he cried, irritated. “I saved you twice. That’s not small, you know? Do you have any idea how annoying it was to bring you back here?”

“How did you know where I lived?”

The man jabbed a thumb towards Clover’s wallet. “Your ID, dumbass. Also, I’d recommend you avoid your neighbours for a bit. They saw me trying to break into your apartment before I found your keycard. Carrying around unconscious neighbours is bound to attract weird attention.”

Clover laughed humourlessly.

“You don’t look _nearly_ grateful enough,” the man spat. “I did all this, and what do I get in return?” He pointed accusingly at the blazer stretched over the drying rack. “You threw up, what, a litre of juice on me? What moron would drink normal _juice_ when they’ve started their first Feast?”

“What are you _talking about?”_ Clover groaned, running his hands down his cheeks, hiding the automatic flush that heated his face as the stranger’s words sank in. _Did I really vomit on him earlier? …I guess that’s what he gets for socking me._ Oh, how he wanted to kick this man out of his apartment, but the very thought getting up made Clover feel nauseous.

The man raised a ring-laden hand against his own waist, tapping lightly. “In the alleyway last night. You’re welcome, by the way.”

Clover’s eyes widened, letting that information sink in. _I’m not crazy. That_ did _happen._ “So you saw me get stabbed,” he breathed. When the other man nodded, Clover asked, “So… do you know how I healed?”

Red eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Did you not see the mark?”

“What mark?”

“On your neck.” Clover’s hands automatically reached up to touch his neck, but the other man shook his head, patting the nape of his own. “No, kid. Here.”

Clover rolled his eyes. “How in the world would I be able to see something there? Did you _do_ something?”

The man shrugged, as at ease as ever. One could have mistaken the apartment as being his, not Clover’s, with how comfortable he seemed in the dark space.

Clover sighed, trying to stand. The moment he attempted getting to his feet, however, another wave of nauseous hunger sent him falling back onto the bed, bent over double. It was a rush of heat spreading from his core through every nerve ending of his body, but the heat was far from pleasurable, burning him inside out with such intensity that Clover’s mouth fell open in pained shock, emerald eyes ripping open. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think- what in the world could any of this mean, he didn’t recognize any of these symptoms, he just-

Suddenly, the man was standing in front of him, having somehow moved with a mirage-like, feline grace that opposed his lanky body. He knelt on one knee beside the bed, pulling out a flask from his pocket. “Hey. Drink this,” he muttered, uncapping the flask. “It’ll help.” Clover glared at the man, causing him to groan and raise the flask to his own lips, taking a quick swig. “Not poisoned, happy? Now drink.”

The pain was too great to not take whatever he could get. So, with trembling hands, Clover grabbed the plain metal flask and brought it to his own lips. What would it be- alcohol?

The next minute was a strange one for Clover. Liquid poured into his mouth, the scent immediately filling his nose and flooding his brain with sensory overload. The consistency was rich, thick, smooth; only a few mouthfuls in, and already the pain in Clover’s stomach began to subside, his breathing calming down, and his whole body feeling like it was being cooled, relieved of the incessant, burning ache.

The taste, however, was simultaneously terrible and delicious. Clover couldn’t remember eating something so satisfying, so breathtaking in his life. And yet, it was sour- the pervasive scent of iron filled his nostrils. As he searched his memory for what he could compare it to, the only question he could ask with a hint of disgust was, “Why does this taste like foie gras?”

“Oh, I’m sorry kiddo, did you want a Capri-Sun?” the man said mockingly, taking the flask back. Capping it and returning it to his pocket with deft fingers, the man grinned. “Feeling better, though?”

Mutely, Clover nodded, massaging his temples. The migraine was almost entirely gone, and with the stomach ache nearly subsiding, he almost felt confident enough to try walking again.

With a world-weary sigh, the elder man dragged himself back up to his feet. Tucking his hands into his pockets, he turned to look out of the window and into the dimly-lit cityscape below. “Look, kid,” he said quietly, oddly calm after all of his annoyance, “I know this must all be… confusing. Last night, I found you bleeding out on the pavement after some guy knifed you. Cops were coming, but with that much blood, you’d’ve died.”

Taking in a long, shuddering breath, Clover straightened out his back, watching the elder carefully. “What did you do to me?” he whispered. If the man was indeed responsible for healing that wound…

The man snorted wryly. “I saved you.”

“You keep saying that,” Clover exclaimed, “but _how?_ You can’t seriously be telling me that you saw me get stabbed so you performed _magic_ or something to erase the wound! And why have I been feeling like _garbage_ ever since? What’s with these headaches? What is with the stomach ache?”

Then, Clover froze. In a quiet voice, he asked, “And… how did you save me ‘twice’? What happened with those kids?”

“You don’t remember?”

Clover didn’t respond. He didn’t know how to.

The man raised an amused brow, a tiny smirk growing on his too-perfect face. He reached up, running long fingers across a chiselled jaw lined with faint stubble. “You really have no clue, do you?” he chuckled.

Clover glowered at him, tottering to his feet. The man’s smile unnerved him; perhaps it was the sudden warmth of it, or the flicker of excitement which sparked through glittering crimson eyes.

 _Crimson eyes._ Clover remembered those, at least. He had seen them the night before, whilst lying in a pool of blood. He recognized that red.

Perhaps that was bothering Clover. Or, perhaps it was the fact that the man’s teeth began to elongate in the moonlight, canines extended viciously. Clover blinked- the teeth stayed large no matter how long he waited for them to shrink back down, for Clover’s mind to stop playing tricks on him.

Something with this man was very, _very_ wrong. If Clover made a break for it, he could probably run. Yet, he couldn’t stop himself from whispering, “Who are you?”

The man spun on his heel, watching Clover with detached interest. “The name’s Qrow Branwen, boy scout.” Suddenly, he was two inches from Clover’s nose. Clover had no time to react as Qrow continued, “You’re a paramedic, right?” Roughly, he grabbed Clover’s hand and shoved Clover’s index and middle finger against Clover’s own neck.

His grip was just as ironclad as it had been in the skate park. Clover tried to pull away, tried to struggle, but to no avail. Finally giving up, he felt horror dawn within him, washing him in a cold sweat, dread filling up his very core as Qrow winked at him, the expression igniting equal amounts of shyness and pure fear within the younger, petrified man.

Clover knew what Qrow was trying to show him. “That wasn’t juice in that flask, was it,” he breathed, his fingers pressed firm against his jugular.

There was no pulse to be found.

“Welcome to the undead, _Mr. Clover Ebi,_ ” Qrow Branwen teased, fangs on full display, red eyes almost glowing in the darkness of Clover’s apartment. “You’re a vampire now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .  
> ,  
> ,  
> ,  
> ,  
> ,  
> YER A VAMPYR, CLOVER M'BOY


	5. Chapter 5

_You’re a vampire now._

Qrow finally released him, allowing Clover to bolt into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind himself. He shrugged off his shirt, throwing on the lights and looking into the mirror. What the hell was Qrow talking about?!

And yet, as Clover’s fingers traced their way up his defined muscles, pressing into his skin, he left handprints all over his torso. It took achingly long for colour to return to his flesh. Checking the colour of his nailbeds, they too remained white far longer than they should after a simple test. He looked frantically back at his reflection, uncannily bright emerald eyes watching him in terror. He checked his pulse on his wrist, on his thumb, on his neck, finally resting his hands on his chest.

There was no heartbeat anywhere, no circulation happening in his body. Qrow wasn’t lying. And yet, Clover closed his eyes and took in a few deep breaths, silently counting out his respiration rate- it was far slower than an average human at a rest. Did… did he even need to breathe anymore? Was this breath just out of habit? What was he living off of, if not flesh and blood and water and air?

Clover raised his chin, trembling as he examined his neck in the mirror. _In movies there’s always fang marks, right?_ He shuddered fearfully, Qrow’s elongating fangs clear as day in his mind. Those fangs could do definite damage to anyone. And yet, no marks marred his neck. No wounds at all, in fact. _But he said that the mark was somewhere…_

Quickly adjusting the shaving mirror on the wall, he took a look at the nape of his neck. Just like Qrow had said, there was a mark. Clover started, peering closely at the mirror; based on what he knew about vampires, he sincerely would’ve thought it was going to be a puncture wound from a bite.

It wasn’t. Instead, situated right below his collar line was a symbol painted in a more muted green than his irises. It had two parts; the bottom looked almost like a four-leafed clover, while the top was a curved crescent with flicked, stocky ends. “A horseshoe?” he pondered aloud. “Did he tattoo me?”

As he spoke, anger grabbed hold of his gut. Did this stranger actually _tattoo him_ without his consent? He broke into Clover’s apartment, turned him into some sort of monster, and then-

With his anger came a glint in his eyes, and with that glint came an eerie, shimmering glow from the tattoo itself. Clover watched with mouth agape the image darken, richen in colour, growing more saturated by the second. In his open mouth, his canines began to grow just as Qrow’s had.

 _Oh my god, this is real._ This was all too much. Gripping onto the edges of the sink, Clover took in one deep breath, desperately trying to cool his head down and just _think._ He was desperate for some kind of footing to hold onto, some kind of normalcy or sense in this sudden twist of fate. _Okay. Vampires. What do I know about vampires?_

Clearly, nothing useful. He could see his own reflection just fine. Qrow didn’t look like a bat-like creature, although whether transfiguration was an ability or not, he didn’t know. His eyes were certainly good at seeing in the dark; he had noticed that ever since he first woke up after the attack. His heartbeat was gone, he was dead, he was far paler than before; all of that made sense considering the amount of blood loss he had suffered.

 _I haven’t been able to eat because I needed blood, is that it?_ he wondered, thinking back to the wasted meal. _Does Qrow just carry that in a flask, of all things- you know what, whatever. That tracks. I had to wear sunglasses but only when the sun was out- fluorescent lights seem fine. Okay, fine. Will I burn? I didn’t cook with garlic today, so maybe that’ll be an issue. I threw up that sports drink on Qrow long after I should’ve been absorbing it, so clearly nothing but blood will do- or anything iron-rich? Vitamin-D rich for the anemia and lack of sun? What the hell is all this?!_

When he had faced those kids in the park, that girl had likely broken her wrist; but there had been something else, too. With dawning horror, Clover reeled back, turning on the sink and splashing his face with cold water while the truth sank in.

She had had a cut on her palm, and Clover had smelled her blood. _That_ was when Qrow had stepped in. Clover could remember the sensation of his teeth poking through his parted lips, and the scent of her blood had been so tantalizing he could salivate just thinking about it.

Staggering forward, he gripped onto the sides of the sink and didn’t let go.

Theoretically, if there was no heartbeat, there was no oxygenated blood moving around. There was no need to breathe then, right? He paused, took in a deep breath, and held it in. Maybe if he held it for long enough, he’d pass out and wake up from this twisted nightmare.

The longer he waited, however, the more he realized just how fruitless it all was. Nearly five minutes passed with Clover watching the tiny clock on the wall religiously, the hands moving at a snail’s pace in the silence of his washroom. All he could hear was the steady _drip, drip, drip_ of the leaky shower, echoing so loudly in the silence that he was going to go mad.

He had never realized just how quiet life was without a heartbeat.

Around five minutes and forty-three seconds, the bathroom door creaked open. Qrow awkwardly stuck his head inside, his scowl melted away to show rueful relief. “Oh thank God,” he sighed. “I figured you’d tried to do something drastic in here.”

Clover glared at him, holding his breath in still. He pointed aggressively at the mark on his neck.

Qrow nodded, leaning against the wall behind Clover. “Yeah, that’s the mark. Yours is… a clover and a horseshoe, huh?” His face split into a wry, almost teasing grin; to Clover’s relief, his unnerving fangs had reduced back to a regular size. “Talk about ironic. Guess that makes you a lucky charm, huh boy scout?” Irritated, Clover let out his breath at last to retort. Before he could, Qrow asked, “What, were you seeing how long you can hold your breath?”

Clover felt his face heat up in embarrassment. He immediately pivoted to the mirrors once more- he didn’t know whether it was a shock or a relief to see that his colouring had not changed at all. _Not enough blood in me to do even that, huh?_ he realized numbly. “Why’re you acting like you don’t know?” Clover muttered.

“Because I didn’t make the mark; your body did. I simply shared some of my blood with you, kid. That’s how you turn someone: you activate their Aura, their Aura leaves a brand, and your own magic develops after your first true Feast.”

Clover narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “You realize this all sounds like absolute bullshit, right? How do I trust you?”

Qrow shrugged, nonplussed. “I mean, I’d show you the scar, but there isn’t one. We regenerate almost instantly.”

 _That explains the stab wound, but…_ Chewing his lip, Clover tore open his medicine cabinet. He pulled out his razor and slid his fingertip across the blade. The skin itself opened up, but there was no blood which escaped his flesh; instead of blood, turquoise sparks instantly flew up from the wound, shining brightly for a moment before vanishing into nothing.

The wound was gone.

“Oh my god, we’re magic,” he breathed.

Qrow let out a long, weary sigh. “Well, kid,” he muttered, stretching his arms high above his head, “if you’re feeling better, then I’ll let you go for the night-“

“Like hell you will!” Clover nearly roared, spinning on his heel. “You can’t just do this to me and walk away without explaining shit-“

“Look,” Qrow snarled back, stepping forward to face Clover head-on, “I owe you _nothing,_ kid. In fact, you owe _me._ I could’ve left your body on the concrete. You’d be nothing more than meat.”

Clover growled, desperate to fight back, but he _couldn’t._ All he could do was grimace and glare, running his fingers through his hair. What could he do? What could he say? None of this was alright! If this was not a dream- if Clover’s life was really _over,_ and he was just supposed to accept that he would somehow figure out how to survive from now on despite knowing next to nothing-

He couldn’t let Qrow leave yet.

However, it seemed like that wasn’t his choice to make. Qrow strode out of the bathroom and into the main living area, throwing open Clover’s largest window. “I’m leaving, kid.”

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Clover cried, rushing after him clumsily. Quick movement still made him lose his balance, apparently.

But red eyes were filled with nothing but weary annoyance tinged with regret. He opened his mouth to speak, paused, closed it again. Then, he pulled out a smartphone from his pocket, quickly typing something into it.

Clover tried, “What are you doing-“

“Writing down your apartment number and position, idiot,” Qrow replied testily. “I doubt I can come through the front door anymore after your neighbours saw me.” Tucking his phone away once again, he cast one last long look at Clover. “If you really want my help, then you need to stay in here until I come back. I’ll bring supplies and I’ll sort you out. Got it?”

Instinctively, Clover protested, “But work-“

“You’re a fucking paramedic, kid,” Qrow groaned. “You’re gonna have to quit that life. Do you really think you can handle dealing with blood when you almost bit that little girl’s arm off yesterday ‘cause of a goddamn papercut?”

Clover froze. He hadn’t even thought of that.

Pity filled Qrow’s eyes for just a moment. “Call in sick for the week. Take a vacation, I don’t fucking know. Hand in a resignation or find a desk job if you’re so damn desperate. But if you’re not here when I come back, I’m going to assume one of two things. One,” and he held up one finger, “you’ve decided you’re good on your own and you don’t need my help. Two,” he raised a second finger, “you’ve gone mad from the hunger of your first Feast and you’ve decided to go on a little Hunt. Either way, I’ll have to waste my time trying to find you to make sure you’re not eating some rando, so just do us both a fucking favour and lock yourself in here.” He paused, then added, “Oh, and don’t tell anyone about us. Probably should make that clear.”

Clover didn’t respond. How could he?

Once Qrow decided that his orders had stuck, he gave Clover a little salute. Then, before Clover’s very eyes, the man’s body seemed to shrink down and morph and twist in the most unnaturally seamless transformation until all that remained was a large black crow.

“Qrow?” Clover breathed.

It squawked, its piercing red eyes watching Clover impassively. Then, the bird took off out of Clover’s window, leaving behind nothing but an empty man in an empty apartment trying to come to terms with the fact that if this wasn’t a dream, his life- his goals, hopes, ambitions, dreams, _everything-_ was well and truly _over._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TL:DR for this chapter:
> 
> “I should’ve left you in that alleyway where you were bleeding to death-“  
> “BUTCHA DIDN’T”  
> “…RIP”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next bit of this! Let me know what you think. The himbo!vampire shenanigans are about to get... himbo-esque smh. (i'm lowkey tired thinking of what Clover is about to pull y'all ughhHHHH)

Dawn found him seated in the same pensive position which Clover had assumed all night; sitting upon the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, face in his hands, desperately trying to work out what in the world his next steps in life ( _In death,_ he realized bitterly) could be. The only time he moved from that spot was to close his curtains to block out the sunlight, and to pick up his cellphone so that once the workday began, he could make some calls.

Pulling enough strings to book off a full vacation for two weeks took some doing, but after a whole slew of negotiations, he was able to consolidate all of his leave for the next few months into one period, citing duress and poor mental health. He knew the overall supervisor wasn’t pleased, but thankfully his direct supervisor Pietro was always kind enough to give people the benefit of the doubt, somehow buying into his one terribly-fake cough before Clover gave up on the pneumonia vein.

He needn’t try and fake a cough, though. The moment the words, “I’ve been really struggling lately-“ left his mouth, Pietro already had a perfect picture of what Clover was describing. It felt dishonest, bringing guilt into his throat like bile, to be using the man’s trust like that, but Clover did not know what else he could do.

After all, if Qrow was right and Clover wouldn’t know how to control himself until later… then wasn’t Clover just as dangerous as the perils the injured faced?

James was next; during Clover’s long conversation with Qrow that night, James had left a few worried messages for Clover, wondering how he was faring. It was a little surprising to see that level of care from the normally-stoic policeman, but even Clover had to admit how odd his behaviour must have seemed during his visit to the station. “I’m doing fine- you were right, I was feeling a bit under the weather, so… now I’m just taking a break, like you told me,” Clover fibbed, laughing with all the energy he could muster. “I’m already a bit better than yesterday. Don’t worry about me. I’ll let you know when I’m feeling up for it. I’ll buy you a round, how’s that?”

It wasn’t a lie, after all. He wasn’t feeling that well, but thanks to the blood which Qrow had provided him, he was already leagues better than the days before. However, it was a different kind of pain, of queasiness, which haunted him at the memory of Qrow’s flask against his lips.

Where did Qrow get his blood?

Clover was simultaneously curious and reviled by the mere thought of it. He had seen enough horror movies as a child to know what popular media said was the source of blood, but Qrow wasn’t attacking people on the streets, was he?

He had to push that worry out of his mind, though, because James began to pick up on his lack of focus. Once Clover reminded him of his duties at the station, eventually, James was eventually placated. “I’ll come visit sometime. You need to rely on others more often, Clover,” James scolded lightly.

“Uh, sure, just… I’ll keep that in mind, James. Cheers.”

The moment he hung up the phone, Clover immediately let out an absolutely devastated sigh, falling back onto his small mattress and staring up at the dark ceiling of his apartment.

He wanted to open up the curtains. He could almost _smell_ the scent of summertime peeking in around the corner, of sunshine warming up the asphalt; this was his favourite time of year, and yet, Qrow hadn’t explicitly explained what the limits of vampirism were, so although Clover wanted with all his might to stick his forearm through his blinds to see if his skin or flesh would react, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Didn’t vampires turn to dust in sunlight? Or did they actually just sparkle, or some nonsense like that?

There was nothing he could do about that question at the moment. What he _could_ do, however, was be proactive. He needed to savour the time he had before Qrow came back to gather his thoughts, to sort out his feelings. Now that the initial shock had died down, Clover let himself breathe in, breathe out, and get to work on triaging the situation; he needed to figure out how to move forward.

The internet could only give him so many answers, and after spending half the day hunched over his laptop searching through every bit of vampire lore he could, Clover had generated a list of questions, tropes, vague hints and more. While there was a plethora of information available online, every single nugget of information seemed to be accompanied by someone else debunking that myth, so Clover simply compiled everything for Qrow to look at later.

Once that was done, he needed to test his physical body. The thought of going downstairs to the gym made him anxious; what if he ran into someone? What if someone cut themselves by accident? The memory of his interaction with the young woman at the park still sent chills of fear and shame down his spine, making it so that every time he tried to convince himself to walk out of his apartment, he found himself paralyzed, terrified. So, trapped in his room as he was, he made do with doing a small workout in his room. And, after realizing that his physical prowess was absolutely horrifying in how much energy he still had after an intense workout, he realized numbly that post-workout meals were out of the question. Wouldn’t all of the food in his kitchen spoil if left unchecked?

With that thought in mind, he focused his energy on cooking all of the perishable food in his apartment. One day, he’d be able to have guests, right? _Hopefully they won’t mind pre-cooked, frozen meals,_ he thought glumly as he stowed away yet another container of stew amidst a freezer full of prepared food he would never get to eat. _Maybe I’ll give them away to the homeless shelter downtown if I can’t host anyone anymore._ Feeding those in need was a good idea; he made quick work of pulling out all of his canned and preserved goods and putting them all in a crate. The moment he could, he would donate all of it.

His stomach growled. It was only 2PM, and he had nothing to do. Perhaps all the movement had been a bad idea. _Where the hell do you get blood?!_

Clover sighed, picking up the cutting board and knife upon his counter distractedly. A twinge in his finger made him jump, turquoise sparks lighting up the dark room as Clover stared at the cut on his hand from the knife. The skin knit back together within moments, and for a moment, he couldn’t help but think back to the confusion of his misstep when cutting chives the other day; but the second the sparks disappeared, he felt another pang of hunger hit him. “Okay. Magic to heal causes hunger. Got it.”

Still, he had time before sundown. If any of the available vampire lore was true, it would likely be about their nocturnal preferences, so he had a feeling it wouldn’t be until nightfall that Qrow returned.

Clover glanced around, physically fine but emotionally exhausted. What else could he do to pass the time?

With the creation of a simple blanket fort and the setup of his laptop and a paranormal movie playlist, Clover settled back against his pillow, numbed himself to the world, and allowed his mind to focus solely upon the ridiculous creatures and campy jumpscares playing onscreen. Normally, he wouldn’t allow himself to enter such a vegetative state; but now, it was only until Qrow came, so he didn’t mind giving into such a silly little whim.

This was the new normal, after all. So, he sank back against his pillow and sighed, allowing tense orchestra stings to draw him into the world of paranormal cinema.

But Qrow didn’t come back that night.

By the next morning, Clover found himself wearily scrolling through the science fiction movie roster to find something that seemed interesting, since he had finished with the best of the supernatural films. He stood up once throughout his movie marathon; it was only to open up his windows, allowing a fresh breeze to roll in with his blinds and curtains still drawn, praying for the scent of cooked food to finally disappear into the wind. It was a welcome reprieve, the wind fluttering his curtains just before dawn, allowing him to take a look at the serene, clear indigo sky above.

What was he still doing here? What was he waiting for?

Idly, he picked up his phone. Harriet had messaged him, scolding him for not taking care of himself. He smiled, but ignored the message; he didn’t know what to say.

He just needed Qrow to give him some freedom.

Finally, after almost forty-eight hours since his departure, Clover heard a squawk at his balcony. He lifted himself up from the floor where he had been doing sit-ups mindlessly to look at long legs, dark hair, and burning crimson eyes watching him in amusement. In one hand, the man held a paper shopping bag; in the other, a small satchel. “I see you decided to not waste my time,” Qrow mused aloud, mirth shining in his eyes.

“Tell me what I need to do to get out of here.”

Qrow nodded, sliding inside of the apartment. Clover frowned, watching him carefully. _Okay, I guess we don’t need to ask permission to enter people’s homes,_ he thought, checking off that item on his mental list of queries. _Good to know._ Still, as Qrow loped through the living room, Clover was tensed, fists balled up, body ready to fight. He knew he needed Qrow to give him answers. That didn’t mean he liked having the man there; not with the memory of his fangs and terrifying gaze still so fresh in Clover’s memory.

“So, boy scout,” Qrow drawled, placing the bag and satchel upon the dining table, “you ready for class?”

Clover froze. This was not exactly the tone he had been expecting. “Class?”

Qrow blinked at him for a moment, dragging a chair out from the table to straddle, watching the other man curiously. “What did ya think I was gonna do, kidnap you and throw you in some vampire fighting pit so you could learn your powers yourself?”

“…to be fair, the first time I really saw you, you punched me-“

“For good reason, you savage!” Qrow cried, holding up his hands innocently. Then, he clapped, the epitome of precocious, entitled annoyance. “Now hurry up. I have a deadline soon, so you’ve gotta get your ass over here.”

 _Deadline? What is he talking about?_ It didn’t seem like the man was going to elaborate, though. Pressing his lips into a thin line, Clover obeyed, pulling the other chair across the table out to join Qrow. Once he was seated, the elder began removing things from his bags; from the paper bag, an ice box, and from the satchel, a stack of books with worn spines. Tapping the ice box, he said, “Here’s your feed to sustain you for now. Do you date a lot?”

Clover started. “Um, no, paramedic schedules don’t exactly allow for-“

Qrow groaned, “Of course you don’t.” Under his breath, he opened up the ice box and muttered, “Damned idiot has all those muscles and is still absolutely _useless-“_ Clover bristled, but Qrow continued onwards, “-so. There’s enough blood in here to last you until you get used to your new body and abilities. These,” he then said, patting the stack of books almost reverently, “are some guidebooks. Your questions should be answered here if I’m not able to answer them on my own, so just read these. And, if anyone asks,” he added, pointing to Clover threateningly, his long nail sharp and dangerous in the light, “you’d better tell them that you’re just a mythology nerd and this is all fake, okay?”

“Why did you come back?” Ever since Qrow had appeared upon his windowsill yet again, the question had been running through Clover’s mind. Why in the world had Qrow bothered to return if Clover was such a bother?

Qrow’s smile was strange; a mix of feral joy and pure regret. Rueful, wild, untamed, bitter. “Because I made you,” he replied simply. “It would be irresponsible to not teach you the basics. At the very least, so you don’t fuck it up for the rest of us.” He shook his head, the image of a world-weary old man. “You have no idea how long eternity is when people are hunting you.”

Clover shifted in his seat, reaching forward and drawing the stack of books towards him. It was time to get some answers at last. “I’m ready,” he said quietly.

Qrow grinned, eyes flashing with red sparks. “Good.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the lesson! Leave a comment if you're reading along, I'd love to hear your thoughts :D

Clover had a lot to mull over when Qrow left that evening, and he had no idea how to make himself feel better about it all. All he could do was sit in the dark, straddling his chair and staring at his computer, the notes laid out onscreen enough to make him dizzy.

Qrow hadn’t been joking when he had said it was going to be a veritable _class_ to learn about his new state of being. His expression had been utterly deadpan as he methodically lectured Clover, leaving the weary man barely any time to write down whatever he needed. Clover felt overwhelmed even thinking about the intensity of Qrow’s words, the sheer disbelief in his face as he had responded to all of Clover’s (apparently-stupid, according to the derisive expression that wouldn’t fade away in blood-red eyes and thin lips the entire time) questions making Clover feel a little too vulnerable for his own good.

He sighed, pressing his forehead against the back of the wooden chair, feeling himself sink into the seat at the mere memory of his lesson. It wasn’t as if he was physically exhausted, no; with his new vitality, he doubted he would ever truly experience fatigue again, unless he did not eat. It was more that he was emotionally drained, his thoughts busying his mind to the point where he felt as if they were drowning him. He just wanted to _breathe_ again.

And he couldn’t even do that- not really.

At least Qrow had answered all his questions with… _minimal_ mockery. That, in itself, was a blessing. The questions had been never-ending, after all. “How did you transform into a bird?”

“Not everyone can morph,” Qrow had murmured, holding out his hand and examining it in the darkness, as if seeing the silhouette of a bird’s talons within his long, perfectly manicured fingers. “I just happened to be a lucky one- transformed by a pureblood. They’re able to pass on certain abilities, but unfortunately for you,” and he had smiled, flashing those sharp fangs that still sent a shiver up Clover’s spine, “you had to settle for me.”

When Clover had asked about Qrow’s age, the other man had been quick to deflect. “Look, let’s just say that I’ve been alive far longer than you can fathom, kiddo,” he growled. “You don’t ask a vampire their age. Just assume everyone’s older than you and you’ll do fine.”

“But how are you still so fit-“

Clover grimaced now, even hours later, thinking back to what Qrow had done in response to that. Without even batting an eye, the elder had stood, meandered on over to Clover’s kitchen, pulled out a large knife, and stabbed his own hand over the cutting board. The image of it was enough to make Clover sick; he was good at dealing with the aftermath of wounds, not watching them be inflicted, and especially not with such confidence.

However, the elder hadn’t even flinched, simply removing the knife and washing it in the sink before replacing it in the drying rack. As red sparks flew over his skin and with a quick wipe of a cloth on the cutting board, Qrow had sighed, showcasing a completely healed hand. “As long as your Aura is replenished often, you’ll heal from anything.”

Clover sighed, looking forlornly at his own biceps. He genuinely loved the feeling of working out, of growing stronger; but with Qrow’s explanations, it was clear that there was no point to even doing that anymore. After all, magic would maintain his figure no matter what. He’d never be more or less in shape ever again- just stuck at this level of performance for all eternity.

Qrow had laughed at him when he had brought up his sadness at that realization. “Just be glad I didn’t change you when you were trying to _change_ your weight!” the man had teased. “Hell, you’re plenty attractive now, so just suck it up-“ and he had paused, freezing for a moment before taking his seat once again, pouting slightly while waiting for Clover’s next question.

Clover had taken a moment to simply stare at the man. _He thinks I’m attractive?_ For some reason, the very thought bewildered him, even hours later; Qrow himself was handsome, uncomfortably so, but in the most ethereal way. It felt odd to think that Clover could even remotely compare.

Brushing that off as smoothly as possible (not very smoothly at all), he had crossed his arms and frowned, scrolling through his list of questions. “Okay, sunlight. Is that okay-“

“You won’t explode or turn to dust. Hollywood is insane. It does hurt like a bitch, though.”

“Okay.” He had paused, his mind turning back to when Harriet had dragged him to see films with some coworkers in theatres. “…will I sparkle?”

“Stop watching chick flicks, idiot.”

He had winced. “Fair enough.”

Food had been the next big concern. He briefly told Qrow about what he had done while waiting for Qrow to return, eliciting an eye roll that was surprisingly fond from the elder. “I should’ve guessed your brain would go to how to help others and not waste anything,” he had said, all wry exasperation.

From his table, Clover stood up and stretched more out of habit than out of need to warm up. With Qrow gone, he had more packing to do; according to Qrow, he couldn’t eat _anything,_ so there was no need to even carry things like coffee. _I’m going to miss it,_ he thought, idly examining the canister upon his countertop. _…can I taste what people eat in their blood?_

The very thought of it made him gag, and he put the canister down. He could save the coffee in case guests wanted it, at least.

With Qrow, Clover had frowned, flipping through one of the pamphlets. “It says in here you can consume animal blood, but it’ll never truly work?”

“Bingo.” The man had fired a finger-gun at him as he murmured, “Animals will stave off the hunger for a bit, but the only way to fight back the hunger is to drink human blood. The life force within it is different.”

Clover’s head had spun- although really, even as he sat alone, long after Qrow was gone, had it ever stopped?- as he had processed that fact. “You keep saying ‘hunger’ and ‘feast’ but I don’t know what that means.”

Qrow had tapped the back of his neck- his tattoo. “Our Aura is the source of our magic,” he had murmured, conjuring red sparks to dance upon his fingertips, his eyes glowing unnaturally in the shadows, “and we need to feed it for it to keep us alive. It is our duty- that’s the vampire’s ‘curse’.”

“But how do you feed?!” Clover had protested, jumping to his feet. “I don’t- you can’t just ask someone to give you blood randomly!”

“Oh, you _can,_ you just have to ask _correctly,_ ” Qrow had replied, all casual nonchalance. “I have a few donors I cycle through.” With a mischievous glint in his eye, he added, much to Clover’s horrified embarrassment, “It’s not hard to make them excited for it.”

The very thought of asking someone to donate their blood for his food sent chills up his spine. “Does _everyone_ find donors?”

“No,” was the thoughtful reply. “Some people will entice others off the street.” Qrow’s nose had scrunched up, disgust evident. “Filthy habit, really. What if they’re ill?” Turning back to Clover, he had assured the younger, “If you decide to go that route, it’s fine, you won’t die even if they are diseased. It’ll taste like shit though.”

Clover had sighed, just giving up. There was far too much to process to take everything in gracefully. “So you’re telling me that some people just… prey on _people._ And there are people who are _fine with that._ ”

“Look,” Qrow had groaned, waving off his worries dismissively, “it’s not that bad. Some people are really into the idea of vampires and they’ll be a donor easily. You should just be grateful that you’re alive with the internet; you have no idea how hard it was to assess whether people were interested or not beforehand. Now you can just… I don’t know, put out a Craigslist ad. It’s not that hard.” When Clover had gawped at him, Qrow had simply shrugged. “If you’re looking for the easiest way out, just wink and flash your Aura to prove it. Most people will give you a lot more than blood, you know.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t-“

Qrow had sighed, bearing the weight of the world upon his shoulders. “I mean they’ll fuck you, boy scout. What grown-ups do.”

The mere memory of how embarrassed Clover had grown, dropping the pamphlet in shock as he looked at Qrow’s lewd smile, still was enough to cause a flush to rise in Clover’s face, despite his lack of a heartbeat. He had never cared too much about relationships, and sex had never been a thought in his mind considering how erratic his schedule and life had always been- the way Qrow spoke of it, however, made his skin crawl.

Thankfully, Qrow had ended their conversation there, opening up the ice box. With lay twelve blood packs, the smell enough to cause Clover’s vision to blur, fangs extending almost automatically. “This should last you for your first feast. The moment you’re feeling hungry- and I mean, _hungry-_ go to this, drink as much as your body can handle, and rest. The moment you wake up, drink again. Do this until you physically cannot stand the smell anymore- that’s the only way to guarantee you’re going to last.”

“And what happens after?”

Qrow had shrugged and walked over to the window, grabbing his satchel on the way out. “You get some donors or seduce random people, I don’t care. My work here is done. Just don’t let the public know, and don’t drain people of all their blood- use some damn common sense for that- and don’t go for minors, and we’ll never have to see one another again.”

And with that, Clover had been left alone.

In Qrow’s absence, all of the books had been rearranged into his bookshelf, placed in a lower shelf to avoid suspicion. He still had quite a bit to read, but as his time off from work still remained, he had all the time in the world to leisurely learn about everything. All he needed to do was keep the blood packs cold and follow Qrow’s advice; find some donors, get some blood; work out how to support himself after that.

It all sounded painfully easy, and yet, when his kitchen table was clear and all that remained was Clover and his empty apartment and his dead heart, he felt more hopeless than ever.


	8. Chapter 8

With nearly an entire day left to his own devices after Qrow’s departure, Clover had barely made a dent into his readings. His body was aching from being seated in one place for so long, just itching to step outside and do _something._ It was an odd feeling, really; to have his brain begging for movement and activity from a body that likely did not need it ever again, to have such a strong desire to _breathe_ running down his spine like nails upon a chalkboard, like a buttoned collar that was too tight. Choking, clawing, desperation to be _free_ increasing with every unnecessary breath.

Perhaps it was just thanks to the notes Qrow had left him. There was so much information within those books that his brain felt far too full. He hadn’t felt so overwhelmed by learning ever since his initial training as a paramedic; his kitchen table was littered with notes and questions, papers lining every available surface as he tried to piece together his new existence. To think that he hadn’t even made it partway through was daunting beyond measure.

The worst part of it all, however, was the realization that when Qrow had said Clover would _never change again_ , he had _meant_ it.

_So, this is immortality._

The urge to escape from what had become his study grew stronger and stronger as time passed. For a while, Clover resisted the urge, out of fear of developing that same hunger within his gut without warning; however, after the nth book on the importance of blood consumption on Aura, he needed to get out of these confines or he would lose his mind.

There was no reason for him to wait until the sun had finally, properly set behind the city’s skyline, but he did so just in case, paranoia fueling his actions more than anything. The moment it was dark, however, he took in a deep breath, put an adhesive patch over his tattoo to hide it, and, for the first time in days, truly exited his apartment.

The warm colours of yellow, cozy lights reflecting off of eggshell paint and tan carpeting filled his heart with such warmth he could have wept, had he the tears to do so. As it was, however, he had to make do with trying to contain his manic smile, running his fingers down the handrail of the staircase, relishing in the sound of his footsteps echoing (far louder than normal thanks to his heightened senses) in the stairwell.

Although it was probably pointless, his destination was none other than the complex’s gym. At this time of night, other residents were rarely out and about, so he felt relatively comfortable with it; he wanted to avoid people for a while until he truly learned how to deal with his new life- or lack thereof. He didn’t want another skate park incident to happen again. He couldn’t even remember what had truly occurred, but the faint recollections he could parse together chilled him to the bone.

_If Qrow hadn’t been there…_

He couldn’t go through that again.

Thankfully, the gym was just as empty as he had thought it would be. As he set down his towel and water bottle, he paused, taking a moment to look at them. _I… guess I don’t need this stuff anymore, huh,_ he understood after a moment. For a second, he debated running upstairs again to put the items away, but decided against it. _It’ll probably look weirder if I don’t have them, though._

He began his normal warmup routine, determined to see his usual workout through to the end. With every movement, he could hear Qrow’s condescending laughter, his confused gaze, the man’s voice ringing through Clover’s ears as he said, _You know this isn’t going to help you, right? There’s no point to this anymore._

Clover shoved away those intrusive comments each time. Even if he wasn’t able to actually grow or change anymore, he was losing his mind cooped up in his apartment; routine would add some kind of comfort to his life, he just knew it.

So, he fell into his usual rhythm. It certainly took longer than usual to get into the swing of things- there was no need to create a perfect flow when he didn’t need to _breathe_ in between sets- but eventually, he was moving, his mind fully focused upon the task at hand. It was freeing.

And for a good twenty minutes, Clover felt almost normal again.

“Well. Look what the cat dragged in.”

Clover froze for but a moment before jumping up, quickly resetting the machine he was using as he registered the calm, frank voice with an immediate sense of dread. He hadn’t expected anyone else to be around, let alone _her;_ swallowing thickly, he spun around on the bench, flashing her a rueful smile. “Hey, Robyn. Haven’t seen you around recently- been busy at the precinct?”

Robyn Hill, one of the officers under James’ jurisdiction and his neighbour three floors up, raised a perfectly manicured brow at him. “Something of the sort,” she murmured, pale eyes fatigued but impassive. “Got a new case I’m working on. Keeps me busy.” She walked over to the other end of the room, rolling out her mat and beginning some stretches. “I’m more curious about you, Ebi.”

Clover quickly glanced into the mirror-lined wall nearest to him. He indeed looked pale, but had she been able to tell the difference in his eyes? Could she see the tattoo? Did she _know_?

“Why’s that?” he called, keeping his voice level as he wiped his dry forehead with his towel, stumbling to act natural.

As she began her workout, she replied, “I saw you come back a few nights ago- you didn’t seem to be doing that well. What’s going on?” She peeked momentarily over her shoulder before transitioning to her next stretch. “I didn’t recognize your friend.”

It took him a moment to place the event. When he understood what she meant, however, he straightened up, an awkward chuckle slipping from his lips while curses rang out in his heart. _She saw Qrow after he knocked me out, didn’t she?_ The elder had mentioned running into his neighbours, after all. “Ah! Yes, that was an old friend of mine. We go a long way back.”

“Oh really?” She paused in her movements to shoot him a deadpan stare.

He gulped. “Yup. We met-“ _There’s got to be something plausible!_ “-in the hospital a while back.”

Robyn’s eyes softened, lip curling into a dissatisfied pout almost reluctantly. “That makes sense. Were you drunk? He looked like he was practically carrying you.”

Clover stationed himself as far away from possible to do cool-down stretches for muscles that did not need them, anxiety rising in his throat. While he wasn’t hungry at all- thank _goodness_ for that, for he wouldn’t know how he would ever have to strength to go out in public again if his fangs were triggered simply by being _near_ human beings- there was something too intense about her gaze to feel any level of comfort with her. “Yeah,” he said, trying to maintain his smile as he went through his former routine like clockwork. It took far more concentration than expected to actually breathe the way one would when performing each movement, leaving his thoughts scattered as he added, “We went out for dinner, and I may have gone too far.”

It wasn’t _exactly_ a lie, per se. She seemed unconvinced, straightening up and propping a hand on her hip. “James told me you were sick,” she said, narrowing her eyes in suspicion.

Clover held his breath, waiting for judgement to pass. What could he say?

Finally, she relaxed again, turning her attention to the treadmill nearby. “He asked me to look out for you if I saw you, you know. You should thank him.”

The smile on his lips was finally genuine at those words. “I’ll be sure to thank him for that,” he said. “You don’t need to worry about me.” Grabbing his towel and untouched water bottle, he began striding towards the door. “I’m going to head out for the night, so good luck-“

“You _sure_ you don’t need anything?” she asked, pushing pale blonde hair out of her eyes. “You’re _really_ pale, Ebi. What’s up with that?”

His hand was a scant inch from the doorknob. With just one twist, he could escape her scrutiny and hide in his apartment once more. Yet, her words lingered in the air, digging into his brain for a moment. _Could_ he ask her for help? He knew she was a good officer, and that she had James’ respect, so that had to count for something despite her brusque nature. To be in the force, one needed to be fairly healthy overall, too. She wasn’t the worst option.

Qrow’s voice rang into his head, creeping at first, then blazing through, overpowering his memory. _I need donors at some point, don’t I?_

For a moment, he opened his mouth, ready to ask- what question it would be, he didn’t know. _Have you ever thought about blood donation?_ God, that would be uncomfortable- _how do you feel about paranormal things?_ She would probably laugh at him, knowing how taciturn she could be.

Could he just show her his fangs?

… _she has a gun. Probably not the best idea._

Letting out a haggard, mildly stressed sigh as his imagination ran away with his brainpower, he finally said, “I, um… I’m currently getting some tests done and such, so I’m off work for a bit. That’s why I probably look off. Thanks for the concern, Robyn. I appreciate it.”

And before he could see her reaction, he was off, racing down the corridor the moment he was out of sight to find shelter within his own home.

By the time the door slammed shut behind him, Clover was almost antsier than before; he quickly abandoned his belongings and threw himself down onto his bed, running his fingers through his hair. A quick look at the clock read that it was 3AM- what the hell had she been doing in the gym at that hour?!

With a frustrated sigh, he meandered over to his window, pulling it open and leaning his forearms against the sill. Not a soul was out and about down below, the sidewalks empty, the traffic lights changing colours on a timer for lonely streets. Without the sounds of people and traffic, however, the summer breeze which immediately filtered into his apartment was fresh, soothing; and although he didn’t need to, he took in a deep breath, allowing his lungs to fill, his chest to expand. It didn’t feel normal, but it was _something,_ at least.

_Well, I didn’t try to attack her. That’s good. But I need a donor at some point- I can’t rely on what Qrow’s given me forever. How can I actually do this?_

For some reason, his brain latched onto that one mission: how to find a blood donor to support him. He clearly was going to need all the help he could get. And, at the end of the day, it was easier to focus on moving forward than to reflect on the fact that he didn’t actually feel any better at the end of his workout- that he well and truly did not know how to spend his time, now that time was all he had.


	9. Chapter 9

There was panic, and then there was _this._ Clover was going to lose his mind. _An eternity without a functioning brain. Fantastic._ After all, he had always known that he would eventually need to invite in guests, to hold up a façade of normalcy despite his very unnatural life.

He just hadn’t expected it to be so damn _soon_.

“Clover, are you _sure_ you don’t need anything?” James was nothing if not apprehensive, looking over the back of his chair to watch Clover puttering in the kitchen amidst all of his boxes of food and other things to give away. He had been scrutinizing Clover like a hawk ever since he had entered his apartment, doubt mingling with fearful concern as Clover stumbled over his words and his feet in the oddly-dark apartment. The pressure of it all was stripping away any sense of calm he could have carried. Why was it that on the scene of an accident, he could be so poised, but in his own home he was falling apart?

Clover flashed the elder a clumsy smile before turning back to the stove, opening up the freezer to grab a prepared meal. “No, I’m fine, don’t worry,” he said, feigning detachment as he grabbed a prepped container of shrimp and noodles. “I just wish I could offer some better food, honestly.”

“No, it’s fine, I don’t mind. I came here unannounced- it’s just that after Officer Hill told me that she saw you, I was a little concerned, so I had to drop by,” James insisted, standing up to join Clover at the stove. “Do you need a hand with that?”

 _Dammit, Robyn. You didn’t need to actually report._ He wasn’t surprised, though- Robyn was nothing if not the perfect officer. Of _course_ she would have already informed James of Clover’s odd behaviour in the gym.

A pang of fear struck his heart. _I hope she hasn’t mentioned Qrow._ No one needed to be aware of the elder’s connection to him- he had no idea how Qrow had managed to survive amongst human society for so long without aging, but he doubted that the man’s alibis could hold up against record checks from the police.

 _At least all of his photographs must look amazing,_ Clover thought idly to himself, pouring a glass of water for James. _He was turned while he was still young._ He paused, glancing over thoughtfully at the shelf. He was still only partway into reading the giant collection Qrow had left for him. _…Do we even show up in photos?_

The list of questions and silly experiments was growing long. He was frankly sick of it all.

In an attempt to present himself as jovial and actually engaged, Clover hummed. “No, this should be ready soon- although if you want any sauces, you can grab them out of the fridge.” He didn’t pay much mind to the footsteps tapping over to said item in the corner. Then, that same anxiety rose in him, and his Aura began to make his muscles _burn._

The refrigerator door had opened a scant half-inch before Clover suddenly leapt forward, slamming it shut with such ferocity that he, too, froze in surprise alongside James.

The other man cast him a startled glare, but what was Clover to do? ‘ _Ah yes, enjoy the hot sauce that is sitting beside the packages upon packages of blood’? ‘I swear I haven’t killed anybody… yet’? ‘Knowing me and how much I understand about this whole ‘Feast’ thing, who knows how long that’ll last’?!_

“I forgot! I… ran out! This is all I have,” he laughed awkwardly instead, handing James a bottle of soy sauce from one of the cupboards. “I spilled some food in there the other day, haven’t gotten the energy to clean it up yet, so just leave it closed for now. Wouldn’t want to make you deal with that.”

James shook his head ruefully, alarm creasing his brow. “You can’t _do_ this to yourself, Clover,” he murmured, leaning back against the wall with arms crossed over his built chest. “Do the doctors have any idea what the cause of all this is?”

“No, but I’m sure I’ll manage,” Clover lied through his teeth, tossing the container into the microwave. “It’s just that they have to run quite a few tests, so I’ve been put on a very weird schedule. Weird hours of sleep, strange fasting, all that.”

The elder hummed doubtfully, carrying the soy sauce and a glass of water back to the kitchen table. “Why don’t you open the curtains? It’s a bright day-“

“No can do,” he replied immediately, scrutinizing the ticking numbers upon the microwave with more ferocity than he had ever felt before, all in a vague attempt to just _stay hidden,_ to avoid James’ eyes. What if he realized just how bright Clover’s eyes were now in the light? “They’re also wondering if it’s a sun allergy.”

He could hear James snort as he sat back down at the table. “Are those real?”

He winced. _I wish you could open the blinds, too._ Every evening, he had taken to hanging halfway out his window just to absorb some kind of light, be it from shop signs or traffic, but he had yet to face his fears of entering the sunlight- and the _world-_ proper. “Surprisingly, yes. We’re doing tests right now,” he fibbed.

“And the hospital is okay with that? With you taking all this time off?”

Clover shrugged, laughing uneasily. “I’m no good in the field if I’m also a patient, right?” Thankfully, the food was heated up, so he plated it nicely and brought it over to James with a wan smile. “Here you go.”

“I really hope this is nothing, Clover,” James murmured ruefully. “Your food at the emergency services community potlucks are always the best-“

“Wow,” Clover sighed, rolling his eyes, teasing, “glad to see I’m valued.” Washing the container and putting it in the dishrack, he soon joined James at the kitchen table.

The elder began to eat half-heartedly, picking at his food as he continually looked up at Clover. “I feel like you should be eating too,” he explained. “Are you sure you’re fine?”

“Yup!” Clover replied, mind racing. The awkwardness of the situation was hanging over his head painfully; he was going to have to go back into society at some point, and he’d need to drink and eat then- wasn’t there a way to not look so odd, so singled out? _I’ll just get a good water bottle and fill it up,_ he thought wearily, running his hands through disheveled hair. _Maybe then no one will be the wiser._

He could already hear the screaming as Harriet tried to take a sip from his ‘water bottle’. It was going to be an interesting transition.

“-good plan.”

Clover jumped back into the conversation, eyes wide. James stared at him deadpan, placing his fork upon his cleaned plate politely. “Did you hear anything I just said?”

“…”

James sighed. “Clover, make sure you get this all checked out and sorted sooner rather than later, okay? You’re not yourself.”

For a moment, Clover opened his mouth, ready to argue, ready to protest, for he was fine… wasn’t he?

 _…I’m not._ Nothing was alright, after all- every ounce of normalcy had faded the moment he had woken up with that strange tattoo on his neck and a man with red eyes in his window.

Clover sighed. _God,_ how he wished Qrow was still around. He didn’t even need to talk to the man; the prospect of simply shadowing the elder, of seeing the man’s routine, would have given him at least _some_ starting point. As it was, all Clover had learned recently was that he needed to brush up on his seduction at some point or the other and that he was far fonder of the sun that he had previously thought. He missed working out, he missed cooking, he missed eating- hell, he missed seeing the inside of that damn ambulance every day, too. He missed it all.

_It’s barely been a week, too._

He missed his heartbeat.

With a thin smile, he leaned forward, resting his elbows upon the tabletop and clasping his hands together. “Tell me what’s new at the precinct,” he urged. “My life’s been pretty restricted since I was given leave. What’s going on for you?”

At the sudden change in topics, James looked less than pleased; however, he had little choice but to comply, seeing how tight Clover’s lips were pressed together, how desperate his eyes read. Carefully, James began, “We’ve gotten a new big case we’re working on. It hasn’t caused any fuss locally, but we’re working with nearby jurisdictions in case it becomes a bigger issue.”

The amount of relief that surged through his system for being given something _other than him_ to latch onto was _indescribable._ “Tell me what’s going on,” he said, buckling down. “You know I’ll be out of the loop even when I get back to work. What am I gonna do, talk about it with Robyn?”

The raised brow was enough of an answer for them both, for James finally relented, letting out a wry chuckle before launching into simple explanations of what was going on in the office. Clover paid attention eagerly, letting his rapt attention be seen so that James would continue onwards. It wasn’t as if he wanted to gossip- he just needed something other than his apartment, his confusion, his isolation.

The story- without any confidential information, of course- of a potential serial killer wandering the local area was far more entertaining that any of his actual problems, after all. He was happy to indulge, even if just for a little while.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this man is a CLOWN

It was time. Clover had finally come to a decision, and he was going to see it through, no matter what.

He was going to find a donor.

After the third rejection though, all he could do was run his hands through his hair and groan, then sigh even more wearily when he saw the mussed reflection staring back at him in the nearest shop window. Qrow had made it sound so straightforward, but how the hell was he supposed to ask someone for their blood?!

He wished with all his heart that this wasn’t necessary. He wasn’t made for this kind of thing. Romance had never been his strong suit- who knew that the one thing he had never dedicated time to would become his undoing? _That’s the way it goes, I suppose,_ he thought, attempting to fix his messy hair, tangled from his frustrated fingers.

Over the past week since Qrow’s departure, he had experienced hunger precisely one time; it had been faint, a stirring in his gut so subtle he hadn’t even noticed it at first. And yet, as time had persisted, his bones had begun to ache, his stomach growling louder and louder, his skin crawling. The very air before his eyes began to crackle, as if waiting for something to set it off, to begin his fall.

When his mouth began to feel oddly full, lips parting unbidden, he had realized what was going on. He had pounced on his blood packs, immediately closing his eyes, cutting open the top corner, pinching his nose and downing an entire bag. There was something so animalistic about it that it set Clover on edge- he idly wondered whether there were other ways to consume blood, just so that he wouldn’t have to drink out of plastic packs every time- but for the time being, he had to make do, for the thought of having to deal with losing his senses and going into whatever Qrow had dubbed his first ‘Feast’ was far more terrifying that sucking it up and drinking blood.

 _Other cultures do this,_ he told himself bitterly. _Pretend it’s pig blood or something_.

To his Valean sensibilities, though, it still didn’t feel okay.

He was grateful for that first day, though. The moment his hunger had been sated and his perception of the world had righted itself, he had gone to his notes and written down all of his symptoms, filling in a tracker he had made for himself. He needed to get a handle on his life, after all. He couldn’t hide out forever- not with his vacation time dwindling away, his rent payment fast approaching. He needed to come up with a plan.

So, donors, it would have to be.

It felt bizarre- at first, he had been content to simply wear what he might casually, but then he had remembered what Qrow had mentioned. He needed to find a willing donor, and people were always more likely to assist those who were attractive. So, he had found himself looking in the mirror properly for the first time in days, actually assessing himself.

If he showered and- well, there was no need to shave anymore- at the very least, styled his hair, he might be able to pull something off. It was almost pathetic, the way he scrabbled for ways to dress up. Since when had he last tried to go on a proper date? _Years. It’s gotta be at least a few years,_ he realized tiredly as he stepped into the shower, scrubbing a body that never aged, never sweat, never lost hair. At least his body wash smelled fresh on his dry skin.

Thankfully, he still had a few nicer clothes in his arsenal; he stepped out of his apartment in a well-fitting grey dress shirt, unbuttoned at the collar and sleeves rolled up, an old pair of dark jeans a little too snug in places for his liking. It wasn’t the worst look in the world. _Okay, maybe I can do this,_ he thought, practicing his smile in the reflection of a storefront which was closed for the night. The image looking back at him seemed gaunter, sharper, than before he was turned. It certainly was fairly conventionally attractive, at least. _It’ll have to do._

The night air was cool and crisp as he set out that evening, hands in his pockets as he idly meandered. _I could go back to the clubbing district,_ he thought, noticing the distinct lack of people out and about the residential areas. _There’s probably going to be people there late into the night…_ The very thought of going back to that area of town sent a pang of discomfort through his stomach. He didn’t want to ever cut through the downtown area, especially after dark- even if he was practically invincible now, he doubted he would ever truly feel at home in his own city streets ever again. No matter how much time passed, the emotions tied to that place would never fade away.

His entire future had changed irrevocably that night, after all.

He had little choice, though. With a sigh, he straightened his broad shoulders and stepped off. He couldn’t delay; he didn’t have a ton of safe hours to work with, thanks to the late sunsets and early sunrises that summer always so lovingly wrought. While Qrow had indeed stated that he wouldn’t crumble to ash, Clover still could not bring himself to test the sun’s rays upon his skin. A lifetime of watching campy movies had taught him to fear everything, and he would take no chances.

Swallowing down his fear, he tucked his hands into his pockets and set forth. It was still early enough that he’d meet people on the street. Perhaps he’d be able to win someone over.

Thankfully, the streets were all well-lit by neon signs for bars, pubs, karaoke places, clubs; lines of people waiting to pay cover littered the streets, with even more people skulking away into dark corners to do whatever dealings they were privy to. Clover watched them all broadly, crossing his arms as he leaned against a brick wall, debating his choices. A club could work- people wouldn’t be able to hear the shaking in his voice, at least.

If they were drunk, though, he knew he couldn’t do it. It just… it felt _wrong._

Gods, how he wished Qrow had stuck with him a little longer.

Still, there were indeed places he knew he could try- stepping into a pub he used to frequent during his university days, he scanned the room. No one seemed sober enough. Then, he went to an old bar, strolling through the patrons and ordering a small drink. He wouldn’t consume it, but it would be weird be empty-handed as he surveyed the room, trying to find a potential… partner.

_It’s a target. I don’t know why I’m pretending._

He did know why. It just felt too wrong to think otherwise, though.

To his surprise, a young woman walked up to the bar, a steadiness to her gait in those high-heeled boots and a confidence in her brow unlike the other less-than-sober patrons as she ordered two drinks. Clover watched her out of the corner of his eye; she was a pretty thing, he admitted silently, with short straight black hair and pale green eyes. Her red dress was gaudy, ostentatious, lace gloves so out-of-place in the otherwise casual atmosphere. As she waited for her drink, her heavily-lined eyes turned to Clover, a glint of curiosity alighting leaf-green, accented by red eyeshadow and glitter.

Well. If anyone looked like the type to say yes to sharing blood, she wasn’t the worst option.

Putting on his most casual smile, he grinned, leaning over. He opened his mouth to say hello, ready to ask the young woman what her name was, when suddenly, a nearly identical young woman appeared by the first’s side; the two ladies retrieved their drinks, cast one haughty look his way, and walked off, not even giving him the chance to speak.

_Well. Great start._

And thus began his evening of being rejected before he could even open his mouth.

Time and time and time again, Clover’s advances were turned down. With a few, he was able to make it past the clumsy introductions, being able to introduce himself and get to know them a little. It was a steep learning curve, one which he was clearly unable to master- for every time he was able to even think of inviting a girl home with him, he would stumble. He would trip up on his words, he would say something odd.

…at least the stinging pain, quickly washed away by his Aura, on his cheek, was a good life lesson. _Don’t bring up blood randomly. You look like a murderer. Got it._

…but how the hell did one _ease into_ giving blood?

After countless rejections and even more injuries to his ego, he had to call it quits. The sun would be rising within a few hours. He needed to find safety within his apartment.

With a defeated sigh, he began the journey back home. Most of the lights which had been so prominent upon his arrival were off, leaving the streets covered in inky darkness, nothing but his footsteps ringing across concrete. It set him on edge; he didn’t _need_ the light, thanks to his eyesight, but a lifetime of wariness is not easily forgotten.

As he walked, his mind began to wander. How had he gone so wrong today? How could he make this easier on himself in the future? Qrow wasn’t going to be coming around anymore, so no longer would he be able to save Clover. _Maybe I really should search for someone online,_ he thought bitterly. _That might be the best way to get it done. We could figure out how to keep contact info out of it, too. Just to be safe. How did Qrow say to do it?_ He vaguely remembered Qrow mentioning flashing his Aura and showing his magic, but that couldn’t be enough to convince someone to let him drink their blood… could it?

As he turned onto his street, however, he found himself walking apace with a woman on the other side of the street. His mind immediately dismissed her- she was clearly walking quickly, hands clutching her purse like a lifeline. She was clearly uncomfortable, and he was not going to make it worse for her- with his awful luck, she would think he was trying to hurt her if he attempted saying hello.

Yet, the image of Qrow’s Aura, of Clover’s own glowing green eyes, stuck with him. Before he could stop himself, he reached down into his core, absently touching the tattoo currently hidden underneath his collar at the same time; willing up the energy which flowed through his veins, he sighed, releasing tension from his shoulders as that power began to sparkle across his skin, providing more light that the dim streetlamps above.

“Excuse me?” he called, voice resonating across the street.

The woman paused as if frozen in time, turning to look at him, movements achingly slow. He smiled, checking both ways for traffic before cutting across to her side, focusing on the mild heat in his eyes from the magic.

“How are you today?” he asked once he was within speaking distance. “Do you need someone to walk you back?”

“No,” the woman murmured, oddly breathless. Clover frowned, watching the tightness in her clenched jaw relax, her dark eyes fixating upon his.

He tried to maintain his amicability despite his confusion, smiling gently. “Do you live around here?” he asked innocently.

To his surprise, the woman immediately began rattling off an address, her eyes glazing over as she continued to stare at him.

Clover froze. _What…?_

“You don’t need to tell me,” he said hurriedly. “It’s fine- I don’t want to pry.”

Stiffly, she shook her head, leaving herself completely unguarded as she looked at him. Gone was her hurried pace, her fearful figure- she was utterly docile, waiting for him to make a move.

A chill rushed down Clover’s spine, raising gooseflesh upon his skin. _It’s… my eyes, isn’t it?_

Swallowing thickly, he let go of his Aura, allowing his magic to return to his core. And, within instants, the woman’s eyes lit up, alert once more- the moment she saw him, she bolted in the other direction, for it was nearly 4AM and she clearly did not understand how a strange man had ended up right in front of her in the street.

Clover squatted down, burying his face in his hands. Qrow had mentioned that the magic was enticing.

He hadn’t explained that it would take away the recipient’s agency.

It took a long, long time for Clover to will himself back to his feet, but the clock was ticking, and sunrise would be in less than an hour. He needed to get back inside.

At least he had a project now. _Craigslist ads, here I come._

Maybe it was time to invest in a VPN. He didn’t need anyone judging his failed attempts to find a donor online, too.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a clumsy little chapter. My updates are going to be slowing down a little bit most likely in general because 1. my main work has picked up like crazy again, so I'll be busy with that most of the time, and 2. I'm feeling a little uncomfortable with some of the fandom in general these days, so I'm kind of navigating that as I go. It's been a weird few weeks. It's definitely been robbing me of my desire to write, though, which is frustrating.

It was time. He had no choice but to go back to work.

“So the tests haven’t come back yet,” he explains somberly to Pietro, willing up the act he had practiced so many times in his mirror that afternoon. “They think it might by coinciding with solar urticaria, or something that’s manifesting similarly, so I’m hoping to only work night shifts until everything has been cleared up.” He smiled wanly. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but…”

Thankfully, his supervisor was always nothing if not compassionate. “Developing a sun allergy as a complication at your age… oh goodness.” The older man sighed, wheeling himself out from behind his desk and over to the phone at the back of his office, his wheelchair squeaking with the movement. “Caroline? I’m going to send someone to help with dispatch for a while,” he said into the receiver after picking up the phone. “He’s a great worker, but he needs to be scheduled-“

Clover gulped as Pietro began to talk logistics with the woman on the other end of the line. If his heartbeat had still been present, it would have been hammering in his chest. _Wait- is he taking me off-duty in general? Am I really going to dispatch?_

After the phone was hung up once again, Pietro rolled back over to Clover, smiling kindly. “Keep me in the loop, okay, Clover?” he said. “Because we don’t know what’s going on, it’s better to not have you on-call for now, so I’m sending you over to Caroline’s unit. You’ll be doing dispatch and restocking and whatnot. Is that alright?”

Caroline Cordovan worked dispatch for their hospital; she was a terror to work with, apparently, for all the most inane reasons. Was this where his life was going to lead him?

He smiled his most brilliant, grateful smile, trying desperately to hide the amount of revulsion rising in his throat. “That’s amazing. Thanks- I appreciate it.”

Pietro shook his head, waving off the gratitude. “I’m not here to add to your worries while you’re sick, Clover,” he said amicably. “Don’t worry. At least now you’ll be able to stay inside, and I’ve got you scheduled between 2000 to 0400 every day.” Turning to his computer, he added, “We’ll need to sort out the payroll paperwork right now though.”

And so, Clover and Pietro spent the next hour settling everything they needed for Clover’s new role in the hospital. It wasn’t what he had been expecting upon his return, but by the end of it, the warmth in his chest could not be understated; after all, he had been expecting to get laid off after explaining how he wouldn’t be able to go near blood.

For now, at least, he still had a job. _That’s something. It’s a start._

However, for the time being, he had to clear out his locker in the locker room for paramedics so that his replacement could use the storage. So, his footsteps dragged him there, leaving him praying with all his heart that he’d be able to clear out in peace, for there was a box and a desk awaiting him in the dispatch center.

Unfortunately, his luck seemed to be all used up by Pietro’s kindness, for right as he walked in, Harriet’s eyes lit up and the young woman rushed over. “Ebi!” she cried, striding over with purpose. “Where the hell have you been?!”

Clover smiled, defaulting to his most professional, calming expression. “Hey, Bree. I’ve been taking a sick leave- seeing specialists and all that,” he lied simply as he unlocked his locker after dropping his phone and the paperwork to complete onto the bench behind him. Avoiding eye contact, he continued, “I’m being moved to dispatch for now since they don’t know what’s wrong with me yet- it’s better to not be going on the field if we still don’t know what’s going on.”

Harriet sighed, taking a seat on the bench and crossing her arms as he began to unpack his fairly-clean locker. “I guess Pietro wasn’t kidding when he said you were going to some specialists, huh,” she murmured, tiny face scrunched up further in worry. “That’s so shit. I’ve been stuck bouncing between Joanna and the puppy lately-“

“Hey, don’t call me that!” Marrow’s voice rang from the other row of lockers.

“-but I guess that’s not gonna change anytime soon, huh,” she finished wearily.

Clover paused, raising a brow. “Harriet Bree, it sounds like you’ve missed me,” he teased.

She snarled, but her heart wasn’t in it, her large eyes shining with concern. Before she could speak, however, his phone dinged, catching her attention.

Clover didn’t react right away, focusing back onto his locker. He had a few spare sets of clothes in there- it was lucky that he had brought a few bags with him in his pack, so he could move everything out-

And then, his skin began to crawl. He had forgotten what that notification meant. He had been hearing it every few hours for the past weekend, after all, although his search had yet to be fruitful.

He didn’t have a chance to grab the phone out of her hands before he found Harriet staring slack-jawed at the screen, a mix of disgust and horror on her face as she read aloud, “A response to your ad, ‘Blood donors needed: blood play-‘” She looked up at him, absolutely appalled. “Ebi, what the _fuck_ are you doing?”

“Harriet, I can explain,” he attempted, but she was already in his face, her control thrown out the window.

“What the fuck is this?!” she cried, pointing at the screen. Dropping her voice into a scathing whisper so that Marrow couldn’t hear, she continued, “Did you catch something weird by finding weird partners for fucked up fetishes _online, you fucking idiot-“_

“No!” he replied, snatching the phone out of her hands and shoving it into his pocket. “No, I’m not- dammit, Bree, I’m not into that!” He glanced around nervously, waiting for someone’s judgemental eyes to turn the corner. When no one came, he simply sighed, leaning back against the row of lockers and crossing his arms, staring deadpan back at her. “Look. I’m not into anything weird, okay? I just-“

“What, need _blood donors?_ Dude, I don’t need to know your kinks,” she groaned, massaging the bridge of her nose.

“It’s not for _me,_ ” he lied.

Her raised brow and exhausted expression depicted absolutely zero faith in him, but she relented nonetheless. “Whatever, Clover,” she groaned, walking back to her locker across the room. “Just don’t do something stupid and die, okay? I’m going to lose it if I’m stuck with other people for too much longer.”

She didn’t see him wince. _A little too late for that, but okay._ His core was warm, however; it was clear that she was simply worried about him. Knowing that brought a little smile to his face. It was nice to know he was going to be missed by his work partner, at least.

_Sorry, Bree. I don’t think I’ll be able to work with you again._

He didn’t know how he’d face anyone bleeding out ever again if he was a bigger danger than blood loss, after all.

Then, a thought crossed his mind. _Would- would she be okay being a donor?_ After all, as far as he knew, Harriet was healthy. She was young and strong with no illness, and he knew she already donated blood fairly regularly… would she ever agree to help him out?

His face heated up at the mere thought of what Qrow had said. _She definitely won’t be asking me for sexual favours in exchange. She would be the perfect donor…_

There was no way in hell he was going to ask her right then, though. That would be far too uncomfortable.

Wearily, he opened up the notification to see what the response had been. It took barely two seconds for him to reject the offer, just as he had all the others; every single response he had gotten to his online advertisements thus far had made him feel sick to his stomach, thanks to the weird intensity and flirtatious wording of each reply. He wasn’t built for this kind of thing.

 _Maybe I should pull the ad…_ He had eight blood packs left. That would last him a while, right?

Pietro stuck his head through the locker room door. “Clover! There you are,” the older man called happily. “Caroline’s got your desk all set up and she’s ready to show you around that office, if you’re ready to go.”

“Sure thing,” Clover replied automatically, tossing the last few items from his locker into his bag. It felt a little lonely, seeing nothing but his uniform hanging within. He would have to say goodbye to it for now.

 _I hope it’s not forever,_ he thought to himself, looking over his nametag. His heart wasn’t beating. His chest ached a little anyways.

The little moment was ruined by another notification from his phone, along with a curious look from Pietro. Clover silenced the device, ignoring the questioning look, for he was not going to go through explaining blood play (or lack thereof, if Clover was lucky) to the innocent Pietro Polendina, of all people. That was _not_ how he was going to start his new career in dispatch- not if he could help it.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sun's out, guns out ~~I told some of y'all he was going to fight the sun~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've missed it, follow me on Tumblr [@faultyparagonfiction](https://faultyparagonfiction.tumblr.com/) for fanart, podfics, and fic updates!

And so, life carried on.

Each evening, Clover went to work for his night shift, smiling cordially at the tiny woman who ran dispatch for their ambulances. Training for dispatch was a whole other hell in itself, for he had had to be given special training one evening rather than taking the course during the day; Cordovan, the absolute terror, had yelled about protocol until his ears had been left ringing all the way home. How such a miniscule, elderly figure could produce that much _noise,_ he would never know.

What that did mean, however, is that he finally had a routine, and Clover scrabbled to latch onto it with the last dregs of his sanity. He was able to spend his days in his apartment, watching films and catching up on television series which his coworkers had recommended him over the past few years, all of which he had always ignored in the past; then, in the evenings, he headed to work alongside the setting sun, pulling off his sunglasses and settling into his stiff chair, ready to be alert for the next eight hours.

He even mastered pretending to drink water, to eat. He managed to convince his supervisor and coworkers that he was on a meal replacement supplement, leading to only needing to drink his meals; of course, the bottles he brought were always empty, but behind stainless steel they would never know.

The most engaging part of his day was always his research, though. He always gave himself a few hours each day to pore over the documents which Qrow had left behind; why, he didn’t know, for so often the words written within different pamphlets and documents were redundant, unnecessary. Yet, Clover continued this practice daily like a ritual no matter what happened. Perhaps it was because that they, along with his dwindling supply of blood in the fridge, were the only proof that Qrow had ever actually existed. Once his blood supply ran out (with no hints of ever being refilled, for the people he had found online were all a little too off-field for him to feel comfortable meeting up with them) would Qrow’s presence just simply… fade away?

As the last blood bag was depleted a few weeks after getting secured in dispatch, Clover found his hunger cravings disappearing entirely. The cooler was removed from his fridge, and with his hunger disappearing, Clover almost felt… normal. Like everything had been a dream.

Like _Qrow,_ and all of this turmoil, had been a dream.

Perhaps that was why when the sun shone one lovely, breezy morning, Clover decided it was finally time to push his limits. He felt better than he had all month, and he was finally feeling confident and secure within this new, unyielding body of his- or maybe it was just the high of having finished his twelfth movie series marathon since starting in dispatch- so he took one look out at a clear blue sky and made up his mind.

He was going to go for a run. It wouldn’t be the same- he still desperately missed the sensation of his heart pounding in his ears in time with every step, air rushing into his lungs, giving him _life_ \- but feeling the wind upon his face and the light upon his skin would be _glorious._ And, if Qrow was correct and he wouldn’t die by entering sunlight, perhaps it was finally time to step out of his comfort zone and test his limits.

So, dressed in shorts and a sleeveless shirt and sunglasses to protect his eyes from the inevitable headache that looking at sunlight would bring, Clover took his first step into the sunlight since that fateful evening over a month earlier.

The moment he walked outside, he almost wept. How could he have avoided this for so long? How could he have holed himself up inside when summertime was in full swing, when the kiss of the sun’s rays upon his skin were enough to warm even his cold, dead core? He held his palms up, almost as if to catch the sunlight within his hands, absorbing it and holding it close.

He was outside. During the day.

 _Gods,_ he had missed this.

He popped in his headphones and began to set a steady pace along the sidewalk in time with his music. There was a more suburban area with a greenway just a little ways out of the downtown core where he lived, and he hadn’t been there in weeks, so revisiting it was his priority. In the summertime, the air always smelled of blooms cultivated in the gardens of quaint households and the earliest blackberries which had invaded the greenway’s walking paths, floral and fruity and crisp in the mornings; as he arrived, he took in a deep breath, allowing the taste of the air to linger upon his tongue. The scent still filled him with such peace and comfort that he didn’t even mind the faint wave of nausea his Aura kicked up within his gut at the mere hint of eating real food. After all, when surrounded by nature in the sunlight, he finally felt like a _person._

Ten minutes into his run along the greenway, however, something began to stir within him. At first, he ignored it, simply brushing it off as the nausea caused by the lush flora around him.

He stepped off the path and turned to enter a more commercial area of the quaint community, streets lined with small stores away from the big chains, just simple enough for the casual needs of the families living nearby. The greenway reconnected to the other end of the path, so all he had to do was walk down and he could surround himself in nature once more.

However, as his stomach began to slowly churn, his nausea extending into dizziness with sparks of emerald flashing within his vision, Clover felt himself slow down to a haggard stop, the realization striking him like a ton of bricks. He sank down into a squat in the shadow of one of the few apartment buildings in the area, leaning against a brick wall heavily as his mind began to catch up with what his body was beginning to scream at him.

He was experiencing hunger.

 _No- I’ve been doing so well though!_ he thought frantically, glancing around. It would take him at least twenty minutes to make it to the nearest connection to a main road, since he was so deep within a suburban, domestic community; buses only ran here on the hour, so those weren’t an option, either. He spun on his heel, ready to turn back, to retrace his steps and make a beeline for his apartment-

 _There are so many people on the trails today,_ he realized faintly, the sun’s rays shifting from gentle to burning upon his skin as fear swept over him, elevating every single sensation until his mind was screaming from the cacophony. _I’ll never make it._

His lips parted against his will, teeth slowly beginning to elongate. _But why now?_

“Excuse me- hey, mister, are you okay?” a high-pitched, innocent voice asked.

Clover turned to look at the speaker- a teenage girl staring at him with doleful, worried eyes, irises such a light grey-blue they almost appeared silvery. Right on her heels was a taller young woman, hand cocked on her hip as she flipped long blonde hair over her shoulder, watching him warily.

“I- I’m fine,” he laughed, stepping back from them. “Why do you ask?”

“You’re pretty pale,” the blonde explained. “Do you need help? We can call an ambulance or something.”

He shook his head on instinct- what would an ambulance find, his anxiety and lack of a heartbeat? The shorter girl stepped closer, scanning his face anxiously before turning back to the other girl. She brushed reddish-brunette hair behind her ear, nervousness rolling off her form palpably. “I think we could get our uncle, at least,” she said, eliciting an affirming nod from the blonde. “He can drive you there. It’s probably faster.”

The taller girl pulled out her cellphone and began to dial, taking a few steps back to look up at the apartment upon which Clover was leaning.

Clover opened his mouth, ready to reply, to explain that he was just fine, that he really didn’t need help- that they needed to _run-_ when the shorter girl placed a hand on his shoulder, a reassuring grin upon her face. “Don’t worry, sir. We’ll get you help!”

And just like that, her scent hit his nose, and the fangs emerged in full force.

Her blood smelled sweeter than anything he had ever smelled before- the youth and vitality running underneath her skin, rushing through her veins, was so tantalizing that his mouth began to water at the very thought of it. Where would be the easiest point of entry to drain her body from? Her neck, like in films? Her wrists? To lose blood quickly, under the armpit was always an efficient way to go, but he didn’t know if he wanted to do _that-_

“-ster? Mister? Sir, are you okay?” The shorter girl’s concerned voice cut through his confusion, clashing with his desirous thoughts so painfully that he almost vomited right then and there. What the hell had he been thinking?

 _I could mesmerize them,_ he realized faintly, sweat beginning to pour down from his temple, lips struggling to wrap around and hide elongated fangs which longed to sink into smooth, supple flesh. _Just like with that one woman- I could use it, I could guide them to the back of the building, it’ll be fine-_

He wanted to cry, the part of him retaining logical reasoning screaming as he watched his Aura hijack control of his mind, feeding him with twisted fantasies that made him want to _die._

He wasn’t a monster. He couldn’t do this- he just _couldn’t-_

And then, the blonde pulled the phone away from her ear, her strong voice startling him out of his spiral. “Um… okay, our uncle says you should just go upstairs. I think you might know him?”

Clover blinked at her numbly, eyes following her finger as she pointed to a window higher up in the building. Thankfully, his sunglasses blocked the sun’s glare, letting him see to whom she was pointing properly. A figure standing in a fifth floor window caught his eye, stealing away his breath in an instant.

He could recognize that crimson glaring down at him, almost with the intent to kill, anywhere.

Quietly, he staggered upright. “…Yeah. Yeah, I think I know your uncle.”

The two girls began to beam. “Well, in that case, I’m Ruby!” the shorter one said.

“And I’m Yang! Nice to meet you,” the blonde chirped cheerfully, waving with all the friendliness in the world. “The door’s over here- c’mon, I’ll let you in, I know the code.”

He stumbled after them, biting the inside of his cheek so hard he could feel his Aura working overtime to heal the damages; he didn’t care, though, only adding pressure to distract himself from the ravenous need tearing apart his common sense and humanity shred by shred as Ruby began to walk alongside him, all the naïve curiosity in the world emanating from her face. “And you are?” she asked.

“…Clover,” he breathed, nodding as Yang opened up the front door hidden in an alcove for him. “Your uncle- it’s Qrow, right?”

“Yup! He’s not a summer kind of guy, so like… expect a darker apartment,” Yang laughed, waving him in. “I hope you feel better!”

“Take care!” Ruby called, waving goodbye.

Mutely, he nodded, waved back, and began climbing up the stairs to the fifth floor, the girls’ cheeriness disorienting him beyond measure. Those girls were Qrow’s _nieces?_ But how?

And, worst of all… if they really were his creator’s family, and if he had been looking at them like _prey…_ did they know that they had just sent him to his likely death?

_I should’ve watched that animated movie Marrow recommended to me instead of going outside. I shouldn’t have come here._

His bed was made, though. Whether he would stay alive long enough to lay in it or not would be a different story.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fyi if any of you are part of the HQ!! fandom... guess who's falling into that rabbit hole fic-wise ((((: (I have one oneshot up, and quite a few planned, so... oof)

He had never known what it was like to truly _fear_ death until the moment he reached the top of the stairs upon the fifth floor landing of that quiet, echoing apartment building. He paused at his destination, gulping down, feeling his fangs protruding through his lips as he pushed open the fire escape doorway and entered a darkened hallway. The paisley carpeting under his feet swallowed up each and every footstep as he walked down the hall with trepidation, but even with his dark-adjusted eyes, he did not focus on the whorls in the floor; all he could think of was what was coming next, what was awaiting him.

He was going to die, well and truly. There was no other way to understand the sheer, unequivocal rage burning within Qrow’s eyes as he had looked down upon Clover from his apartment. Clover had crossed the final line, accident or no, and Qrow had read through his momentary intentions effortlessly, and now he was going to die.

_If I had known…_

What would he have done differently from that afternoon? Was it better to hide away forever rather than ever venture into the sunlight ever again? _Maybe that would have been better,_ he thought miserably, taking a moment to lean his temple against a stuccoed white wall halfway down the hall. _I cannot believe I thought about drinking from those girls._

The thought of their scent only made his fangs grow longer, the shame, thicker. He hated it.

Finally, he arrived at the one doorway under which there shone a light. None of the other apartments seemed occupied, but if Clover’s memory served correct, this apartment would have nothing but a looming figure of death waiting for him within. Was he really going to do this?

He wanted to run away, more than anything. The thought of venturing back outside, however, slaughtered that thought before it had the chance to bud. Unconsciously, his fingers trailed up to the back of his neck, brushing against his Aura brand. It burned hot to the touch, and as he brought his hand back down, he could see frantic, desperate green sparks dancing momentarily across his skin.

He had made a mistake coming outside that day, and this was his punishment.

The door wasn’t going away, but eternity was already unbearably long; he did not want to risk earning Qrow’s ire any more than he already had by making him wait. So, he sighed, reaching out and grabbing the doorknob of the one active apartment in this entire hallway. The doorknob moved for him, clicking open as he pulled it back, easily granting him entry.

He gulped again. He did not know why- there was no saliva to rid himself of, after all- but the reflex was oddly soothing, oddly _human_ despite the teeth still pressing through his lips, the hunger that begged to be satiated looming in his stomach, in his mind.

If he was still in the right frame of mind to be anxious, then maybe he had a chance, after all. Maybe Qrow would forgive him. Maybe Clover wasn’t too far gone.

Or maybe he was far more optimistic than he had ever given himself credit for, he thought absently as he finally stepped through the door, only to have a hand grab his neck and mercilessly drag him inside the room.

Clover barely heard the door slam shut behind him, too focused upon the impact of his skull against brick ruthlessly. His world spun for a moment, vision bursting into a myriad of green sparks as the skin of his scalp split apart due to the force, only to stitch itself back together again. The pain, however, lingered, shock and fear and horror welling up within his gut so fast that he wanted to vomit.

What was going to happen to him?

It took barely a blink of an eye for familiar, murderous crimson eyes to halt an inch away from his own, venom spitting from Qrow’s lips as he hissed, “You fucking piece of _shit,_ Ebi, you thought you could attack my _nieces-_ “

“I didn’t know who they were!” Clover cried, desperate to break free of Qrow’s grip around his throat. However, in his weakened, hungry, dizzy state, all he could do was flail against the impeccable power holding him against the wall in a vice-grip. “And I’m sorry, I thought I was okay-“

“The _hell_ you’re ‘okay’!” Qrow snarled back, lifting Clover bodily off the ground. Clover could only uselessly flail in Qrow’s grasp, his toes pointing downwards, meeting no floor below despite Clover’s giant, built frame. “You go outside in this getup, and you haven’t eaten in god knows how long, and you think you’re going to be _fine_?”

Clover gasped out, “You said I won’t turn to ashes, so I thought I was okay!”

Wordlessly, Qrow released Clover, dropping the man to the ground. His knees were jelly, head heavy, body crumbling uselessly as he massaged his throat and tried to regain his awareness. However, the moment he raised his eyes, Clover could only yelp as Qrow grabbed onto Clover’s wrist and dragged him sideways.

Clover followed clumsily, finally getting his bearings. Qrow’s apartment was minimalist, yet elegant; dark bookshelves lined with hardcovers lined the southern wall of the main open area, while one nook was entirely devoted to a clear cabinet filled with fine liquors. Comfortable, elegant leather couches surrounded a small living space, highlighted by a large screen mounted onto the wall which was connected to a jumble of wires. Clover could only raise a brow at the sheer amount of game systems littering the shelves below the monitor, the shelves tucked into the corner of the space covered in video games from nearly floor to ceiling. He had not expected _that_ to be what filled Qrow’s home.

He almost tripped on a small, askew chair in his distraction. Clover barely managed to regain his balance as Qrow continued to drag him into the kitchen, the small space facing the street. Clover paled as he saw hints of sunlight peeking through the curtains, illuminating a few photographs which hung upon the wall; each image was of Qrow and the two young women he had met outside, along with a man who looked startlingly like Yang in colouring.

Before Clover could ponder on who that man was for too long, Qrow finally released Clover’s wrist. It was for but a moment- the elder merely stormed over to the sink, picked up a long, elbow-length rubber dishwashing glove, then returned after making another quick stop to the fridge, bringing over another small blood pack- before he grabbed Clover again, yanked back one of the curtains, and stuck Clover’s arm outside the window.

“…pardon?”

Qrow’s wordless, yet truly scathing glare was enough to shut Clover up. He didn’t understand- what in the world was Qrow doing? Why did Clover’s arm need to be outside?

Why was Clover so _hungry?_

Suddenly, the heat on the back of his neck was gone. _…what-_

His answer came after almost a minute of standing uncomfortably in the middle of Qrow’s tidy kitchen in the form of a stabbing, piercing pain. Every nerve ending in his arm felt like it was being revived and shocked with nothing but pure agony, and an unholy scream ripped through Clover’s throat before he could even fully comprehend that he himself was the source of the noise. He was being revived, revitalized, only to be killed most gruesome way possible.

His arm… it _burned._

“Q- _Qrow!_ ” Clover screeched, falling to his knees. His forehead slammed into the windowsill, for he had expected to be released, to be allowed to pull away from the sunlight, but Qrow’s hand still kept him trapped there, every inch of his skin peeling away. Clover gagged, his empty stomach roiling as he watched through bleary eyes how his pale skin grew pink, red, brown, black, white- blistered and pus-filled and bubbling, the little liquid in his dead body begging to evaporate under the heat of the sun, his magic all but dead.

 _I won’t turn to ash,_ he realized faintly. _Not unless I run out of Aura._

He was beyond hunger. He was _empty._

His fingers began to flake apart.

His mouth fell open, screams of pain so high and so desperate that they were almost silent to his own ears. He could not think, could not parse together anything other than the fact that his arm was drying out right in front of him, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Suddenly, the gloved hand gripping onto his arm released him, and after a quick shuffling around, a straw was in his mouth. “Drink, you moron,” Qrow muttered.

He sucked on the straw immediately as he yanked his ashen, mottled arm back to his chest, desperate to find any reprieve from the numb, blazing-hot pain which was melting off his arm. Instantly, the familiar taste of iron hit his tongue and Clover screamed again, his Aura brand bursting to life with green, shimmering energy. He immediately closed his eyes and sobbed, the power rushing through his veins as he drank and drank and drank, the blood almost evaporating in his throat as it was instantly converted to magic used to re-inflate his grotesque, mangled limb.

It was only when the blood pack ran dry, his mouth left with only the faintest trace of iron and chalky air that he opened his eyes once more. He did not dare to look at his arm- did he even still have it, with the pain subsiding and striking him again in tumultuous waves, trying to pry apart his sanity by the seams?

So, he lifted his head to look up at the looming figure above him. Qrow watched him coldly. “When’s the last time you had any blood?” he asked icily.

As he gasped and panted, desperate to gain some semblance of stability in his spinning world, guilty embarrassment flooded into Clover’s heart, a bitter taste upon his tongue that had nothing to do with the lukewarm blood Qrow had offered him. He mumbled under his breath, “I actually haven’t gotten _any_ new blood, aside from what you gave me back then.”

Qrow blinked, his intensity and fierceness and aggression draining away in an instant. The man merely squatted down, looking up at Clover in absolute disbelief. “I’m sorry, what?”

Clover stood, then hobbled backwards, landing in a chair at the dining table. He leaned back, covering his eyes with his aching forearm. The skin was still repairing thanks to the fresh intake of blood, after all- welts healing before his very eyes, scabs forming and disappearing within just a few seconds. The pain still lingered, though.

It took him a little while, but after enough prodding and needling from Qrow, Clover finally tamped down his pride to admit just what misadventures he had been up to over the past weeks. It was surprisingly easy, in all honesty- the ability to simply allow everything to pour out of his mouth, his lips moving before his brain could even acknowledge the embarrassment that he should have been feeling after his countless rejections both online and off, felt surprisingly freeing to actually experience. He had not been able to discuss his attempts to find a donor with anyone- Harriet’s horrified expression did not count, for she had no idea what was going on except for the fact that yes, Clover did in fact deserve her judgment- so to actually put those experiences to words felt oddly freeing.

However, Qrow was not pleased by Clover’s stories, in fact growing more defeated with every word Clover spoke. The longer Clover talked, the more confusion oozed from every pore in the elder. “But _how_ have you not eaten _anything?_ ” he cried, pacing across the room, long, pale fingers running frantically through his grey-streaked hair. “How in the world could you not have gotten even a single resupply?”

Clover spluttered weakly, “I’m- I’m not _good_ at ‘finding targets’-“

“You don’t need to seduce anyone, though! You work in a goddamn _hospital!_ ”

_Oh. **Oh.**_

Clover had never even considered that- that he probably had easier access to their city’s main supply of blood than the vast majority of the population. “Uh- well- yes. You’re not wrong.”

“…did you never think to try and get hooked up from someone who works in transfusion storage?”

“…”

“I… I actually hate you, you know that?” The amount of aggravation and bitterness in his tone could not be quantified, the sound almost like a slap against Clover’s exhausted face as the elder reached into his pocket and pulled out his cellphone. Turning away from Clover, Qrow sighed, raising the phone to his ear. After a few moments, his voice seemed to lighten of its frustration a little bit. “Hey, Oz,” he murmured lowly. “Yeah. Remember that guy I changed? Yeah, yeah that one.” Glancing over his shoulder, his face twisted into a weary pout as he looked at Clover’s quiet, hulking figure, lips still wrapped around the straw leading into the empty blood pouch. “Yeah. The paramedic. The stupid one, yeah.”

Clover winced. _Is… he talking to a friend? Someone who knows about me?_

It was easier to focus upon who the person on the other line could be than to acknowledge the fact that someone else- probably another vampire, if Qrow’s focus upon secrecy was anything to go by- knew of Clover’s existence solely through the title of the ‘idiot paramedic’ that Qrow had turned.

Eventually, Qrow was able to hang up the phone, turning back to Clover with exhaustion painted upon every pore. “Okay,” he murmured, “I’ve got it arranged so that you can get deliveries for the first few months. That should keep you satiated, you absolute moron.”

“Hey-“ Clover attempted, but Qrow’s deadpan stare was enough to silence the words in his throat.

Sighing, Qrow added, “So tell me how you’ve been adjusting to our life, Mr. Paramedic. How’s it feel being one of us?”

Clover’s mouth opened, closed, opened again. How could he respond to that? Was it time to recount his adventures of trying to find a donor to little avail? Was it time to explain how his life had irrevocably changed, how his work no longer felt meaningful, how his days felt endless and his nights stifling?

How could he explain that he had barely begun, and yet he was already so _sick_ of immortality?

As it turned out, he didn’t even need to speak. Qrow’s eyes softened as he took in Clover’s twisted, pained expression. “Yeah, boy scout,” Qrow breathed, sinking into the chair by his side, “I know.”

And for the first time since Clover met Qrow Branwen, Clover truly felt like Qrow _regretted_ saving him as much as Clover regretted surviving.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment and let me know what you think!


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